


I'll burn for you (a birth story)

by WaveMaker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxious Draco Malfoy, Childbirth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Feminization, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Graphic Birth Scene, Legilimency, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Meditation, Mindfulness Techniques, Mpreg, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, POV Harry Potter, Pain, Present Tense, Supportive Partners, in-depth scene, intense suffering but it's worth it in the end, natural labour, rapid pregnancy, seriously it's basically contraction by contraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22165504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaveMaker/pseuds/WaveMaker
Summary: This entire fic is set in one magical clearing, over about thirty very intense hours.Basically it's a blow-by-blow account of what Harry and Draco are willing to go through to expand their family.*Warning* This is a pretty detailed description of somewhat-realistic natural childbirth, so if that's not your thing, obviously don't read it!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 35
Kudos: 183





	I'll burn for you (a birth story)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Birthing Jamie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21182135) by [Ladderofyears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears). 

It’s only just past nine in the morning when Draco and Harry apparate to the edge of the meadow. They land at the edge of a sunny clearing in a birch forest, halfway up a mountain somewhere in northern Italy. Behind them the trees open up onto a breathtaking view of the valley below, but Draco doesn’t even spare a glance for it, already kneeling down and checking the contents of his medical bag one more time.

“Emergency portkey… towels… protein bars…”

“Hey, Draco,” Harry says, touching him gently on the back. “Stop a sec.”

Draco looks up at him, hand still in the bag and eyes distracted. “What?”

“I just want to - could you give me a hug?”

“Oh. Okay.”

Draco stands up and takes a breath before accepting Harry's hand. Harry leads the way past the trees until they’re both standing looking down into the valley. The beauty is astonishing, but it doesn’t do much to ease the tight knot of nerves lodged in Harry's chest.

“Come on then, Potter,” Draco says, pulling Harry against his chest. Harry holds him tight, and feels a little better. They breathe together for over a minute before Draco steps back from the hug.

“It'll be okay,” Draco murmurs, only looking slightly paler than normal.

“It will. Well. It'll suck, but it'll be worth it.” Harry musters his best smile. 

“Oi. No anticipating. We're staying in the moment, remember?”

“Right, sorry.” Harry thinks of their preparation lessons from Healer Cotling. “Everything is perfectly fine right now.” He deliberately looks around, noticing the trees and the sunshine and his own hand still held in Draco’s. 

Draco just nods, and leads them back the few steps to the meadow's entrance. 

Harry lets Draco finish checking the contents of the bag against a long list written in his best handwriting on a piece of parchment. Harry holds his palm against the smooth, papery bark of the birch tree next to him, concentrating on staying mindful of how it feels to touch it, and bringing his thoughts back to that sensation again and again when they keep wandering a few hours into the future.

Draco stands up and swings the bag over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Harry snorts.

“Are _you?_”

Draco seems to be making a determined effort to breathe normally. His voice sounds tight when he speaks.

“Last chance. We can still go home again if you want to.”

“No. No way. Let's do it.”

Draco gives him a tense smile, walks into the meadow and disappears. 

It only takes a couple of steps for Harry to cross the wards, and Draco reappears in front of him. The shape and size of the meadow is the same, but now there is suddenly a deep pool nestled in rocks on their right, and a huge oak tree with a tangle of thick, gnarled roots rising up in the middle of the clearing a little to their left. Directly between the tree and the pool is a large four-poster bed, hangings drawn back invitingly.

“Right. Okay. This is it, then,” says Draco, staring at the bed.

Harry gently moves up beside him and unhooks the bag from his shoulder.

“Better get the potions out?”

Draco nods and tears his eyes away from the bed.

“Yes. Right. Let me, Potter.”

“You only call me Potter when you're properly nervous.” Harry manages a grin.

Draco humphs and bats Harry's hands away from the bag, coming out with two small glass vials filled with a dark green liquid.

He passes one to Harry and then struggles to uncork his own.

“Fuck.” Draco’s breaths are already coming shorter, his anxiety combusting into instant exasperation. “My fucking hands are shaking.”

Harry feels himself becoming slightly calmer as he watches Draco lose control. He uncorks his own vial and passes it to Draco, taking the unopened one and uncorking that too.

Draco watches, nostrils flaring, then closes his eyes and takes several deep, shaky breaths, very clearly fighting to stave off the rest of his anxiety attack.

“Harry… you know I find it more difficult to trust myself when you rescue me like that.”

Harry tamps down hard on his impulse to get defensive. He knows it takes a lot for Draco to articulate his feelings when anxious. 

“I know. I'm sorry. It's just that - I always find things get easier once you're actually doing it. I just wanted to get this waiting over with. It's the hardest part.”

“I highly doubt that,” Draco says, but he seems mollified. 

“On the count of three?”

Draco’s eyes widen, but he clutches the vial tighter and nods.

“One - two - three.”

They both tip their heads back and swallow the potion like they are doing shots in a club.

It tastes pleasant, with a homely, savoury flavour. For a moment, Harry thinks of Molly in the Burrow, knitting him a new Christmas jumper every year.

He looks over at Draco, who’s looking back, scanning his face for any reaction.

“You feel anything yet?” asks Harry. 

“No. You?”

Harry shakes his head. A moment passes.

“I hope it's me,” Draco says, all in a rush.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want to be the brave one, for once.”

“You _are _brave - ”

“All right, I just mean - I want to be more selfless than you. Just for once. You've done enough suffering for others.”

Draco is looking at the grass between them. Harry can only step closer and stroke Draco’s arm, trying to express his gratitude.

Then he feels something - a twinge, not painful, not even strong - down deep below his abdomen, and his breath hitches in surprise.

Draco’s eyes fly up to meet his.

“Was that - did you feel it?”

“I don't know - maybe. A tiny bit.”

Draco frowns and takes his hand.

“Well shit. So much for my noble intentions. I'm sorry, Harry.”

“Hey. It's alright. It could have been either of us.”

“I know. It's a bit stupid to feel disappointed really, isn't it?”

Harry snorts quietly.

“No, it makes sense. Honestly, I think you might have the harder role here.”

“Yeah, _right._ I'm going to remind you that you said that.”

“Please don't.” A little curl of apprehension is beginning to tug at Harry's mood. As if in response, a stronger twinge down inside himself - still not painful, just odd - makes him gasp a little, and he squeezes Draco’s hand to steady himself.

“It's happening, isn't it?” says Draco, and Harry sees excitement beginning to dislodge his disappointment. 

He smiles.

“Yeah, I think so.”

The twinge this time feels strangely insistent, and is right between his legs. Harry’s breath stutters in a tiny grunt.

“I need - I think I need to…” He gestures helplessly at his lower half, not even knowing what it is that the twinge wants him to do.

“Would you like to go to the bed?” Draco asks, and Harry nods.

By the time he sits down on the edge of the four poster, the skin across his whole groin and down between his legs is beginning to feel tingly and warm. His cock stirs a little in response, but it isn’t a directly sexual feeling. Another twinge makes him lean back on his hands, exhaling shakily. 

“Shall I - ?” Draco stands hesitantly in front of him. Harry nods. With exaggerated care, Draco kneels down and takes off Harry's shoes and socks, then undoes Harry's belt and eases his trousers and pants off.

Harry pushes up off the bed to help Draco get the clothes past his bum, but when he sits back down on the sheets he lets out a soft hiss of breath and leans back onto his elbows instead. The warmth in his groin is building and it feels too strange and sensitive to put any weight on it. He is beginning to pant, breath hitching on every exhale.

“Harry? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I - ah - I just need - _ah!_”

The twinges are coming faster, pulling at him, making his breath come in jerks. They want him to - he has to - he _needs_… what? Nothing coherent. He starts to blow his breath out in longer sighs, trying to balance against the unsatisfied urge. 

“Does it hurt?”

Harry shakes his head, closing his eyes and letting himself fall back fully across the bed. He gives himself over to the aimless, overwhelming need, as the twinges made his breath stutter and his body shift in minute fidgets, seeking release.

The warmth and tingling focuses down in his perineum, and Harry instinctively spreads his legs wider. He reaches down below his half-hard cock and tentatively feels the skin there. It’s burning but it doesn’t hurt. He can only touch for a second with one finger before the answering twinge from his groin has his hand reflexively recoiling, and he curls off the bed towards himself for a moment with a harsh gasp.

“How can I help you, Harry?” Draco’s voice sounds pinched with concern.

Harry reaches blindly for him, eyes still shut, until he finds Draco’s hand and grips it tight. 

“Is there anything happening? Can you see?”

“I think I can see a pink line maybe - do you mind if I move these, they're blocking the light…”

Draco’s voice comes from where he’s kneeling between Harry's legs by the edge of the bed. Gently, Draco’s cool fingers nudge Harry's balls out of the way of his view of Harry's perineum. Harry grabs the covers with the hand that isn’t clutching one of Draco’s and squirms, but it’s more from the intensity of the shapeless yearning inside him than Draco’s touch. 

“Yes - there's definitely a line, Harry!”

“It's so hot!”

Harry half groans, half growls, helpless against the frustration. The skin of his perineum feels superheated and prickly, but still not painful.

He bucks again as Draco lays his cool fingers against Harry's burning skin. But at least with Draco’s fingers, he doesn’t have the reflex to remove them immediately. Actually, in the next second, when he’s able to relax slightly, he registers that it’s helping.

“Thanks. That's s-soothing,” he manages to say, panting and clutching at the covers and letting Draco’s pressing fingers calm the sensations a bit.

“You're doing really well. It's okay. Just breathe.”

Harry concentrates on making his panting a bit more controlled.

“There's a groove now,” Draco says, a tinge of wonder in his voice. He stops pressing and starts stroking his fingertips along the new indent in the skin, back and forth from Harry's balls nearly to his anus. 

“I need - I _need_ \- ” Harry chokes, hitting the mattress with his free hand in frustration. 

“I know. It's coming. It's coming, Harry.”

Harry moans, holding on to Draco’s hand with both of his, trying to stay tethered somehow. He starts to sob, dry-eyed, and wonders if he will go out of his mind with this feeling. He can only tense every muscle tighter and tighter as he feels the painless, awful heat building. Just as it becomes truly unbearable, the heat flares up even more, and his flesh begins to melt and give around Draco’s fingers.

“Oh God - !”

“Yes! Harry, it's coming, your beautiful cunt, it's coming!“

Harry keens and curls around where he’s holding Draco’s hand, twisting desperately, but just as he knows he can’t take it anymore, Draco’s fingers slip into the new gap in Harry's perineum, through silky, wet folds of flesh, and stop firm against Harry's pelvic bone. The contact sends a bolt of electricity through Harry, and the bizarre, consuming yearning and heat shifts directly into desire.

“_Uh_ \- Merlin!” Harry bucks involuntarily and then hisses between his teeth from the friction of the movement.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers, staring between Harry's legs. “You've got a cunt, Harry.”

Harry bucks again, but can’t get enough friction against Draco’s fingers.

“I want you,” he says, his voice a broken whine.

Draco blinks and looks up at him, lips parted. Harry tugs on the hand he still holds. 

“Come here. I need you. Get up here with me.”

Draco blinks again and Harry helps pull him up to his feet. Draco starts to undo his shoes.

“No, forget those. I don't care, just get in here.”

“But - ”

Harry hisses and sits up enough to grab Draco by the shirt, then turns and tows both of them up the bed until they’re lying next to each other on top of the covers. His freshly-formed labia seem to be pulsing with his heart-beat, in exactly the same way as his rapidly hardening cock. He clutches at Draco, pulling him closer, and kisses and kisses and kisses him.

Draco is evidently having trouble keeping up with the sudden change of pace, but he kisses back earnestly enough. Harry feels both calmed and provoked by the kissing. At least _this _need is familiar and gorgeous and slightly less overwhelming, although he hasn’t felt quite so urgently horny since he was nineteen, in those first few months of being with Draco.

“Clothes off,” Harry says, voice rough and low. He breaks away for the three seconds necessary to rip his own top off over his head, throw it aside, and lie back down again.

Of course, Draco now has to take his shoes off after all. While he’s sitting up in the bed to reach his laces, Harry tries to help undo Draco’s shirt buttons, but finds to his amusement that he has actually started shivering from lust. His hands are shaking too much to manage the awkward angle. He settles for scooting up behind Draco and kissing the sensitive place at the back of his neck.

Draco manages to get his boots and socks off before his breath hitches, and he arches his back slightly to better expose his neck.

“_Yes, _Draco,” Harry says, nuzzling his nose to Draco's neck and wrapping his arms around Draco’s chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Harry.” Draco only sounds a little breathless. Harry wants to see him _wrecked._

Draco squirms out of his trousers and rushes through his shirt buttons. Harry claws the shirt back off Draco’s shoulders the moment it comes free.

Harry is already kissing Draco's shoulder, chest, arm as Draco lies back onto the bed. Harry presses his whole body against Draco's side and Draco willingly rolls into him, pressing even closer. They moan as their erections get crushed together, Harry's hips are twitching forwards again and again, his whole body is following seamless instinct as he kisses skin, kisses lips, gasps, pants, and holds tight to Draco's bicep, his hair. 

Draco responds with love-bites and nips to Harry's lower lip, one hand anchored behind Harry's head. He draws back and stares at Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Draco pushes a leg smoothly between Harry's thighs, right up between his legs -

“Fuck!” Harry yelps, spasming, as Draco's knee nestles directly into the raw, pulsing mess of flesh that has so recently opened up there.

“Sorry! I didn't think - ” Draco starts to withdraw.

“No - put it back, damn you,” Harry says, grabbing Draco’s thigh and pulling it into position. He grinds down, bucking and rolling his hips, and the folds of his labia rub and _burn._

“Oh. Oh _God_,” he whines, clutching at Draco's hips and burying his head into Draco's shoulder.

All Harry can hear is Draco's panting as he pushes his leg up harder, helping Harry to find friction against the blunt pressure. Their cocks still bump together in the tight space between them, adding bolts of electricity to the ongoing burn, making Harry grunt each time.

“What's it like?” Draco asks, hoarse.

“Oh God, it's - it's amazing,” Harry whispers. He pulls back so that he can see Draco's face. “Do you wanna - uh - wanna see?”

Draco nods quickly, reaching behind himself to find his wand and aiming it awkwardly up at Harry's chin in the small space between them. “_Legilimens_,” Draco says, and Harry keeps eye contact as Draco gently enters his mind.

Harry's vision dims as his own experiences rush through him for Draco to feel, overlaying and doubling the sensation itself. Harry fights to keep gazing ahead so Draco can maintain the connection, even as his eyelids flutter involuntarily.

“Merlin,” Draco breathes.

_Touch me_, Harry wants to say, but all his mouth can do is suck in croaky, ragged breaths. But Draco can hear him anyway. Harry feels Draco's fingers wrap around his cock and they both groan and Harry _buckles_, feels his stomach hollow and back arch, but he somehow manages to keep his eyes open.

_Lower_, Harry thinks, and Draco knows what he means. Draco strokes off Harry's cock and moves his hand down further, replacing his knee with his long fingers.

_Yes. Yes. Please, _Harry begs in his head, and Draco tentatively wiggles his fingers deeper through the folds. They groan in unison as Draco runs two fingertips from back to front, dragging the folds of labia across each other. The rush of wanting feels similar yet distinctly different to anything Harry has felt before - warmer, more rounded somehow. Then Draco's fingers reach the top, and the wanting becomes a sharp stab of pure sensation as he passes Harry's clitoris.

“AH!” Harry shouts, and no force on earth could prevent his eyes from squeezing shut. The loss of the legilimency connection means he is no longer feeling everything twice, but on the other hand, it means that he can focus entirely on the way Draco's fingers are pressing firmly onto_ that_ spot, where apparently about a billion nerve endings are triggering at once.

Draco's fingers pause, then gently circle the area, and each time his fingers fall off the tiny raised bump Harry cries out. The sensation is so intense it is almost agony. He grabs Draco and holds on desperately as Draco lets go of his wand and brings his other hand across to wrap around Harry's cock. 

The sharp burn from his tortured clit wars with the relief from his aching cock. _Too much, too much, too much. _He has never come undone this quickly, or to this extent. Even his hand blindly finding Draco's cock - even holding on to it for dear life - is not providing any way to stay grounded. He writhes, his body arching as he somehow tries to both push closer to and escape Draco's touch. He is beyond words; his moans feel more like screams, or sobs.

He feels the pleasure race through him, unstoppable, and at the same time as his balls tighten and his cock pulses in shoots of warm liquid, he feels the burning of his clit melt at last and he is seized by an endless, powerful clenching low inside himself. He soars in ecstasy for second after second, for far longer than a normal orgasm.

He collapses, spent, back onto the bed, every limb heavy, but despite the release and delicious relaxation, he doesn’t feel the characteristic come-down he usually does. His cunt is still pulsing and eager and he reaches for Draco, determined to make the most of his amazing new body.

Draco’s eyes are wide and his breathing wild. “Harry… wow.” He swallows and Harry grins. _Now _Draco sounds wrecked, and Harry’s barely even touched him.

Harry drags him down on top of him and they spend some time trading kisses. Harry feels languid and warm and lustful, but from the sound of Draco’s hitching breaths and his twitching hips, he is going half out of his mind with arousal.

Draco’s rigid erection grinds against Harry’s spent cock, and Harry hisses from the oversensitivity of it. His cunt pulses and he arches his back, wishing Draco’s erection was a bit _lower_…

“Draco - want you in me - in my cunt…”

Draco’s hips immediately spasm in response, grinding his erection harder against Harry’s abdomen.

“Oh _Merlin_, Harry, yes, yes... _shit_ \- ”

Draco is suddenly rolling half off him, clutching tightly round the base of his penis with his eyes squeezed shut. Harry freezes, amused and turned on in equal measure as he watches a panting Draco desperately staving off his orgasm.

“I never knew you were so randy for cunts, Draco. In fact I recall that you have, in the past, insisted quite strongly that cunts are not your cup of tea - ”

“Shut it, Harry. It’s - it’s _you_ with a cunt, Merlin and Morgana…”

Harry is touched. “Well, don’t go coming before you’ve even fucked me, Draco - you know that’s, like, your one job here, right?”

Draco scowls at him. “I am aware, Harry, thank you.”

The danger has clearly passed, and Draco brings himself up to his knees, positioning himself between Harry’s knees. Harry widens his legs eagerly, but Draco only brings his hand down, once again starting to circle his clit and rub through his labia.

“Uh - Draco - fuck, come on!” Harry grips the pillow behind his head with both hands, turning his head to the side to gasp into his bicep, the sensations already beginning to make him lose it again.

“Now then, Harry. I’ve done my research. We need to make sure you’re fully prepared.”

“Dra - co - it’s ready! I’m r-ready. Oh_, ohhh, _it’s a cunt! It’s self-lubricating!”

“Yes, and isn’t that convenient?” Harry can tell from Draco’s voice that he’s smirking. Draco’s wicked fingers dip between Harry’s folds to the hollow where most of the slickness is coming from, letting his fingertips brush just slightly into the entrance of Harry’s vagina before moving upwards again, using the fresh moisture to smooth his movements across Harry’s burning clit.

“Ah! No! God! _Draco, please!_”

Draco’s breathing is heavy again but there’s still far too much smugness as he says, “Well, since you asked so _nicely_, Harry…” and slips one long finger deep into his cunt.

Harry grunts in relief - _this _is what he needs, it’s the opposite of the exquisite torture Draco was inflicting on his clit, he’s being _filled_ and he can feel unfamiliar soft walls tightening greedily around Draco’s finger. He fidgets and pushes down onto it, urging Draco to _move_, yes, that’s it!

Harry can feel another orgasm building in that slow, tantalising way, like the tension gathering before an earthquake. It feels so _good, _both like and unlike the normal way Draco fingers him... 

As if Draco is still hearing him through Legilimency, Draco brings his other hand down from Harry’s knee. “I wonder - shall we try a little experiment, Harry? A direct comparison?”

“Anything - anything, Draco, just don’t stop, pl-please, don’t stop…”

The pillow is no longer providing enough support for Harry to hold on to. Harry abandons it and reaches up behind himself to cling to the slats of the headboard.

Draco’s fingers leave him entirely for a moment, but return immediately. “Let’s just borrow a bit of this lube you’ve got inside you here - yes, lovely - ”

“Ah - ah, ohhh, Draco - ”

“Let’s get these fingers nice and coated, one must be properly _thorough_ and get them covered _all _the way down…”

Harry’s back arches clear off the bed. Two fingers feels - “Fuck! Fuck!” - fucking _intense_.

“There, and now we can just take those fingers, practically dripping, excellent work, Harry - and we can - yes - let this other hand take over…”

Harry’s head thrashes from side to side as he feels fingers leaving his cunt, then returning, and on top of that there’s now fingers tracing round his pucker too. He sucks in breath after breath, trying to find enough calm within his shattered self-control to relax his muscles. He knows how, he’s well practised, but it’s _really _hard to concentrate with those other fingers exploring inside him...

“And in the meanwhile, we’ll slip in the back way, as it were - not to be crude, Harry, you know how I _hate _to be crude - ”

One of Draco’s fingers breaches the first ring of muscle in Harry’s arse and Draco eases up slightly with his other hand to give Harry a chance to relax into the stretch. The familiar slight burn merges with the unfamiliar friction already happening inside him.

“Uh - uhhh, oh fu - oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck - ”

Harry can no longer distinguish the particular causes of all the sensations, except that at some point Draco has eased his fingers all the way inside his arse and has unerringly found his prostate. Harry is now filled twice over and he is shuddering uncontrollably, and his prick is aching, as hard as if he hadn’t just come mere minutes ago.

“Ngghh - urrhh, uhhhh, nnnnnggg…”

“Oh, Harry, yes, love, you’re doing so well, you’re taking this so well, love…”

Harry sobs and reaches for his cock, but when he touches it he nearly chokes - it’s too much, there’s just _too much _going on and stroking his cock is overwhelming.

“Hands off, Harry - hands off - I want to see you come untouched for me, love - I know you can do it, now where - is - it...”

Draco’s fingers are moving in tandem, one set of fingers hooking upwards into Harry’s prostate and the fingers in Harry’s cunt hooking downwards, and suddenly Harry’s eyes fly open as he is pierced by a gorgeous, thunderous feeling.

“Gah! God! Aaaa_aaaahhh.._.”

“That’s it, Harry, that’s it - let go for me, let it happen, love - ”

Everything is going tight and it feels as though Harry’s whole body is tensing. The orgasm is inexorable and yet achingly slow, and Harry loses all sense of anything else as his cunt clenches hard and the high consumes him.

He collapses back onto the bed, completely boneless, and gradually becomes aware that he is spattered in his own come. Draco is already lining himself up, his breath harsh, and Harry moans as Draco gradually pushes into him.

“Oh fuck - Salazar - Potter - you’re so _tight_…”

Harry squirms weakly. Draco’s cock is a lot bigger than his fingers, and there is a distant sense of discomfort as his cunt opens for it, but this slight twinge has nothing on the stretching burn that Harry is used to as part of sex. Harry is still lying limp and passive as Draco sets a hard rhythm, eyes shut and brow furrowed as he plunges wildly into Harry again and again. It is so unlike Draco’s normal, considerate love-making that, to Harry, it seems paradoxically tender - Draco is so overwhelmed that he can no longer help himself.

“Love - you - Draco.”

Draco’s eyes open and he almost glares down at Harry, a grunt his only reply. His pale body is slick with sweat as he pumps into Harry.

“Draco - can’t - wait - to have - your baby,” gasps Harry.

Draco’s eyes widen as his glare dissolves into shock. His mouth opens and he cries out, every taut muscle giving way at once, and he falls heavily onto Harry’s chest, his breath stuttering and warm in Harry’s ear.

Harry wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer, awash with happiness.

“That was - that was - _Merlin_,” pants Draco.

“Yeah.”

Harry nestles his face into Draco’s neck, heart full. He loves this man so bloody much.

After a few moments and a last tight squeeze, he lets go of Draco and gently pushes at him. Draco rolls off him onto his side with a sigh, his eyes still closed. Harry stretches his arms above his head and lets his legs lengthen, humming in pleasure as his muscles tighten before he relaxes back against the mattress.

He closes his eyes and moves into a more comfortable position, loose and open on his back. God, but he feels good. Warmth is shifting around his chest, and he arches his back a fraction to better accommodate it before settling again. Another wave of warmth washes through him, pooling lower in his abdomen, and Harry presses his hips into the mattress a little more and rolls his shoulders back, shifting as the warmth needs him to. He breathes into it, taking slightly shorter, noisier breaths. Everything feels so right.

“Harry? How are you feeling? You seem a bit… fidgety.”

Draco’s voice feels quite distant somehow, even though he’s right next to him.

“Mm.” It’s more a quiet catch in his breathing than a voiced word. He keeps his eyes closed, focused on the soft, coiling warmth inside his belly. He bends his left leg, pressing his heel slightly into the bed for a moment before letting it slide back down again with a hitching sigh. He has moved unconsciously to rest his palm against the side of his torso, wanting to feel closer to the warmth inside him. It moves slowly but constantly around Harry’s body, unfurling, clutching, rolling lazily through him, and Harry easily breathes and gasps and shifts with it, instinctively relieving the pleasant pressure of each change.

“Harry? Can you hear me? Does it hurt?”

Draco’s gentle hand touches Harry’s shoulder, and Harry grunts slightly. Draco’s hand there feels _wrong_ \- distracting - he hadn’t realised how effortlessly the warmth has gathered all of his attention for itself until Draco’s intrusion causes his focus to fracture in two. The warmth builds in protest at being even slightly ignored. Harry forces himself to open his eyes and take in Draco’s worried face beside him. In response, the warmth surges, and Harry’s panting becomes rougher, each exhale catching in a soft grunt, muscles beginning to tense against the tug from inside him.

After a second it’s too much, and Harry groans and closes his eyes, moving his limbs urgently in aimless twitches to placate the demanding warmth. After a minute, the need settles back to its previous lazy level.

Draco has withdrawn his hand, and Harry almost forgets he’s there until he speaks again.

“Harry, I’m sorry, but please - will you let me see what’s going on? I need to know you’re okay. If you can just open your eyes for a few seconds…”

Harry gasps as he struggles to spare enough attention to turn the words into meaning. When he understands he nods, already tensing against the building warmth, and hopes Draco is ready.

He opens his eyes.

“_Legilimens,_” says Draco immediately.

“_Ah_!” The feelings double as before and Harry can barely see for the internal double-vision. His panting becomes laboured and he writhes against the warm pull. _I'm okay, Draco_, he thinks desperately, hoping Draco can feel both the pleasure of yielding to the need inside him and how difficult it is to resist.

He can only hold eye contact for not-quite-three seconds, but he manages to wait until he sees the understanding in Draco's eyes before surrendering, letting his own eyes squeeze shut.

It takes several minutes of moaning and spasming and gulping at the air before the indignant, roaring warmth within him is appeased. It settles back into relative quiescence, and Harry relaxes gratefully into the pleasure of the quiet fidgets.

It is not unlike the twinges of burning need he felt while his cunt was forming - except that it’s a surging, continuous warmth, and, vitally, that this need is easy to meet. It is constantly swirling, driving him ceaselessly, and there is no moment when he can relax fully and stop his restless movements. But this is fine, in fact it’s brilliant: every time the warmth demands something, a stretch or a press or a breath, fulfilling the demand triggers a deep sense of satisfaction. It is like hovering in a state of bliss, but bliss with a delicious edge.

He gives himself over willingly to what his body wants him to do. There are no thoughts at all. After a while, the warmth starts needing him to make sounds as well as movements. At first it is just a tiny stutter on every out breath, and irregular gasps and sighs and pants; then he finds himself giving breathy half-groans as he exhales, or his breath hitching in the “Uh!” of a grunt, or the short “Ohhh…” of a soft moan. His sighs became a sort of guttural humming, vibrating deep in his chest. It is another way to meet the need, to relieve the warmth and pressure inside him. His legs sketch twitchy circles over the mattress, kicking feebly against nothing; his toes curl and uncurl and his back arches and settles; his fingers clench and unclench on the covers beneath him.

Anything happening outside himself no longer signifies; he hears the quiet sounds of Draco moving around, but doesn’t bother to notice them. Even time doesn’t matter. He has a vague sense that it has already been a long, long time, but he would gladly continue in thrall like this forever.

After a nameless period of time, he starts to feel as though he is melting into the bed, like someone is gently pressing down on his torso. The bed beneath his middle feels more giving and he sinks into it. The warmth inside him becomes more expansive, gracing every part of him right down to his toes, but the movements it wants from him began to diminish and localise to only the far ends of his limbs. His sounds become quieter and his breathing marginally more even and smooth. 

At some point after that, things change again. Harry gasps as the warmth, which was wandering aimlessly through his legs, begins to pool down low in his abdomen. Harry draws his legs up and plants his feet on the mattress, knees splayed slightly outwards, panting. The warmth moves with a new sense of purpose and unity in a slow, slow wave up his belly and back, getting warmer all the time. Harry sucks in air and holds it, pushing his shoulders against the bed to raise his upper back as the heat requires. It keeps getting more intense, and Harry gasps out his held breath, sucks in a new one, and holds it. He flings his hands above his head, gropes until he finds the verticals of the headboard. He grips one in each hand, braces himself and tenses every muscle to meet the nearly overwhelming need. The fire across his belly spreads down and pools once again in his abdomen, and Harry turns his head into his upper arm and whines as the heat becomes almost painful - then all of a sudden it has peaked, and is ebbing away, and Harry collapses boneless on the bed, revelling in his body’s ecstasy.

The warmth now suffuses every inch of Harry’s skin, but is no longer shifting, and Harry loses himself in complete stillness, the need satiated for now. He has never known peace like it.

Then, ever so slowly, after who knows how long, the warmth begins to creep back towards his centre. It begins to pool, in that same deep place, and Harry once again feels the urge to brace himself, and doesn’t resist. He strains and gasps and keens as the wave of heat passes up his belly, slowly, slowly, then back down, becoming almost too hot to bear. He arches upwards but is pressed inexorably back down by some kind of weight around his middle, and he can’t quite do enough to balance the need completely this time. It’s building, it’s too much -

“Aargh!”

The yell releases some of the pressure, but still he feels the burn become torturous, not from pain but from sheer frustration. However, after several breathless seconds the burn recedes, and he is again rewarded with a peace beyond words, and he knows he would happily keep doing this for as long as the warmth wants him to.

The new rhythm is established, and with each slow, determined wave of heat there is less that Harry can do to relieve himself. His body still knows how to respond to the need but it is not enough; he tenses tighter and roars louder, but the peak of each yearning surge goes unmet and somehow, over and over again, he has to just lie there and take it. The peace in between is still blissful but it is now marred with the tiniest sliver of anticipation of the next wave.

He can only sob in frustration against his arm as the heat once again begins to gather. It feels so _good_, and he’s so _willing_, but he can’t meet the need, and he _has _to. This feeling is too intense, it has to be released somehow. He can’t take any more of it.

For the first time, he doesn’t want to be there any more.

The feeling of the heat deep in his abdomen immediately transforms into a dull ache. The pain is not too bad, although it does get worse as it travels up his belly, a long, slow, uncomfortable cramp, tracing the same path as the waves of heat did. Harry grabs the headboard and tenses, holding his breath as the ache intensifies down in that low place in his abdomen, becoming almost sharp as it peaks. Still, it is a lot easier to deal with than that enticing, impossible, burning need.

When the wave of pain lets him go, he collapses as usual, his body utterly relaxed, but he is no longer floating in bliss. His mind is now his own. He can think again. He can register the world around him, the rustle of a breeze in the trees in the clearing, the feel of the breeze on his skin. He notices his back feels sore, and his mouth is incredibly dry, and his whole body is sticky from sweat. And he feels - heavy.

He blinks his eyes open, squinting in the soft evening light. And stares.

Right in front of him, rising vertically and absurdly from just below his flat chest, is a huge mound of taut, round, stripy skin. His belly is _enormous_. Surely Hermione wasn’t this big with Rose, even at the end? It looks more like a tower than a dome. He tentatively places his hand on the top of the distorted curve. He has to reach up nearly his entire arm-length to get there. It looks like his hand has just landed on the horizon of an alien planet, but he can feel it there - it is definitely his body, his skin stretched warm and tight over his hard belly.

_Merlin._

He hears the scritching of a quill and turns his head to the left. Draco sits by the bed in a high-backed leather armchair, just like the one back in his study, his head bent as he writes a note onto a piece of parchment on a clipboard. He looks odd, and Harry realises it is because, despite his prim posture, he is wearing a ratty old T-shirt and a pair of Harry’s old sweatpants. Harry remembers Draco talking about ‘practical birthing gear’ and smiles.

Above Draco float several shimmering silver _Tempus _charms, most of them set as timers. The largest one tells Harry it is twenty to seven in the evening. Has he been out all day? It could be two days for all Harry would have noticed.

“Draco?” His voice is a dry croak.

Draco’s head whips up and the clipboard falls off the edge of the armchair.

“Harry!”

Draco immediately kneels by the bedside, reaching out to lift Harry’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “Are you all right? How are you feeling?”

“Er - fine, I think. Um... very... pregnant?”

Draco’s grin is slightly watery. Harry is surprised by just how much love he can see in Draco’s gaze. Draco isn’t usually one for such vulnerable sappiness. Draco has to clear his throat to speak.

“I’d say. Oh, _Harry…_ it’s - you’re -” He bends down and kisses Harry’s chapped lips, seemingly unable to help himself. Then he kneels back again, frowning, and his tone is suddenly business-like. “You’re _parched_, aren’t you? Do you want some water?”

“God, yes, please.”

Draco stands up and grabs a glass from the neat little side-table he’s conjured next to the armchair. The glass is already full. Harry can see the contents of Draco’s bag spread out neatly on another couple of tables a little further away. He smiles to see how organised it all is - Draco is definitely better suited to his role than Harry would have been.

Draco brings the glass right to Harry’s face, but Harry is still flat on his back, and there is an obvious angle issue.

“Oh, of course, I should have thought - I’ll conjure a straw…” Draco gropes behind him on the armchair for his wand.

“No, that’s fine, just help me up.” Harry has already got up onto his elbows but his belly feels like a boulder pinning him down.

“Ah, right, okay, here…”

Harry grins. It’s rare to see Draco this flustered. Draco puts down the glass and gets his hands under Harry’s armpits. Harry pushes down into the mattress and Draco heaves, and together, in a couple of ungainly fits and starts, they get Harry into a sitting position against the headboard. Harry's belly sags down between his legs, almost touching the mattress. He has to use both hands to lift his belly enough to place his thighs underneath, which thankfully takes some of the weight off his lower back. His belly extends outwards all the way to his knees.

Draco flutters around, jamming several pillows behind Harry’s back before giving him the water. Harry gulps it down in one. Draco seizes it and _Aguamenti_es another glassful. 

After the third glass, Harry sits back against the pillows with a satisfied sigh.

“That's better.”

Draco puts the glass back and Harry instinctively rests his hands on the curve of his belly. The gesture feels utterly natural but the sensations are bizarre. He gently lets his hands roam over the whole surface.

Draco sits down on the edge of the bed, the wonder clear in his eyes.

“May I?”

Harry nods, and moves his hands down to the sides of his belly. Draco lays his hands reverently either side of Harry's distended belly button. Their eyes meet. Then Draco moves further onto the bed and bends over so he can place a slow, chaste kiss on the furthest point of the curve.

“Uh!” Harry grunts as something _hits _him from inside. It feels like someone has kicked all the air out of his lungs. Then he realised that is exactly what has happened.

Draco snatches his hands back.

“Potter, did you feel that?”

Harry laughs.

“‘Course _I _did! _You _felt it?”

“Yeah… They’re really in there.” Draco is staring at Harry’s belly, looking lost.

“They really are.” Harry grins at him.

“No, um, Harry, _they_. Er. Plural.”

At first Harry is thrown off simply by Draco stammering. Draco _never_ says ‘um’. Then the meaning registers.

“What do you mean, plural?”

Draco just looks at him, eyes wide. “Harry. There are two.”

Harry gapes for several seconds. “You are shitting me.”

“I’m not! Honestly!”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, if this is a joke, you tell me _right now_.”

“Harry James Potter, I would _not _joke about this. Look!” Draco waves his wand in a sweeping motion above Harry’s belly and says “_Corus!_”

Three balls of dark pink light appear, clustered above Harry’s lap. They are all pulsing, the two smaller lights going a good deal faster than the larger one. Harry gazes up at them as they gradually fade away, stunned.

Harry looks back over at Draco, his head buzzing. It is a small comfort to see his fear and elation reflected back in Draco’s stare.

Then a squeezing ache starts deep below, and he hisses slightly, instinctively holding his belly.

“Is that - ?”

Harry nods, hunching forward and closing his eyes. The cramping tightens and spreads, up, up, until his whole belly is hurting and Harry holds his breath. The pain clenches hard and sharp in that low place, worsening for one second, two, three, and Harry tenses up as the pain peaks - and then lets his breath out in a shaky sigh as it ebbs away. He sinks back against the pillows and opens his eyes to see Draco making another note on his retrieved clipboard.

“Your contractions don't seem to be getting consistently closer yet. You've had twenty-one so far, all between eleven and fifteen minutes apart, on average about forty seconds long - ” 

“Draco. _Twins_, Draco.”

Draco swallows with a _click_.

“I know.”

“What the fuck are we going to do? We're not ready for two babies! We've only got one of everything! We're never going to sleep again, we can't do this - ”

“Harry! Harry. Stop it.” Draco moves to sit on the bed, and grabs both of Harry's hands to hold them between his. “That's not what we're here for right now, okay? Stay in the moment, remember? Is anything wrong right now?”

Harry takes a deep breath. It is kind of difficult with the baby - _babies _\- encroaching on his lungs.

“No.”

“Good.” Draco begins circling his thumbs in Harry's palms. Harry lets himself focus on that sensation, returning his attention again and again, until his thoughts stop racing off into the future.

He looks up and gives Draco a smile. Draco beams and bends down to kiss him, a lovely, lingering kiss. Then Draco speaks in a hushed murmur.

“You're doing so well, love. It's been amazing, watching you today. The way you looked, I can’t even tell you. I am so glad I got to see it. You were just growing and growing and growing, getting so fucking big with our children. You submitted so beautifully to it, you knew just what to do. The _sounds_ you made - Merlin, Harry. And I couldn't touch you! Gods. It's been driving me crazy. I masturbated three times, you know, and I really tried not to.”

Harry grins, and brings Draco's hands up to his lips. He kisses the backs of first one, then the other.

“That's almost romantic, Draco, in a way.”

Draco actually blushes, and shrugs. 

“Anyway, Draco, I'm afraid I need to lower the tone, because I really need a piss. I think I have a baby on my bladder.”

“Ah. Right. Swing your legs round first then…”

With a grunt, Harry gets his legs off the bed, and shuffles along in small increments on his bum until he is sitting on the edge.

“Here, grab onto my forearms…”

Harry wraps his fingers just below Draco’s elbows and Draco does the same to him. Harry spares a glance at the faded Dark Mark - he barely notices it any more these days, but for some reason it is strange seeing it in this context.

Then Draco pulls and Harry pushes off from the floor, and, with an effort, he is standing.

“Woah. Okay. Don’t let go, or I think I’ll fall on my face.”

“I’ve got you, Harry, don’t worry.”

Harry’s lower back already aches with the effort of countering the huge, tugging weight on his front. But that is the least of his discomfort. Gravity does not feel good.

“Oh my God, Draco, they weren’t fucking kidding about the pressure. Jesus Christ.”

It feels like most of the weight inside him is pressing onto that low inner place, already sensitive from the contractions. It hurts a bit, but mainly it just feels deeply uncomfortable, like he has a balloon being crushed inside him that needs to pop. Again, he realises that is exactly what is happening.

“Ugh. Oh, that feeling seriously needs to bugger off.” He finds himself shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot, but there’s no way to escape the relentless pressure.

“Well maybe it’ll be a bit better after you’ve emptied your bladder, come on - ”

Draco takes a step backwards, still holding Harry’s arms, and Harry is about to follow him towards the edge of the clearing, but then he feels the aching pain gathering.

“Wait, Draco - _ah_ \- contraction.” Draco immediately returns, coming as close as he can with Harry’s belly in the way, which is still a good couple of feet away.

The cramp seems stronger this time, and Harry can definitely feel that deep inner place more clearly now he’s standing, with all that pressure focused on it. He hisses a breath and holds onto Draco’s arms a bit tighter as his whole belly is gradually engulfed in the clutch of pain. He grits his teeth and locks every muscle rigid as the pain sharpens and builds for one second, two, three, four, _five, six _-

“Breathe, Harry.” Draco’s calm gaze meets his, and he gasps in a breath, and another, the pain fading away.

“Can you stand on your own for a moment?”

Harry nods, and he holds the pillar of the bed with his left hand as Draco quickly makes a note on his clipboard.

“That was only nine minutes in between, Harry, and nearly a minute long - they're getting closer!”

“Wonderful,” says Harry, not entirely able to be sincere.

“Sorry Harry, but you know it's better for them to get more intense than to die down for hours.”

Draco stands in front of him again, taking his arms back in the same forearm grip and helping Harry to shuffle forwards. Harry grunts as the movement causes the pressure to bounce just slightly with each step.

“I know it getting more intense is technically a good thing, it’s just - that one felt quite a bit stronger.”

Draco turns back from checking his direction over his shoulder and gives Harry a sympathetic look.

“How bad are they? You were almost screaming before but you still hadn't opened your eyes, and all I could do was sit there waiting, I didn't know what to do…”

“That wasn't pain, don't worry, it was the need. It was getting unbearable, I couldn't do enough to meet it… the pain actually isn't as bad, it just feels all achey and clenchy.”

Draco raises an eyebrow.

“Clenchy. Good word, Potter.”

“Fuck off, Draco.” His laugh makes his huge belly shake. “I'd like to see you keep your vocabulary intact in this situation. Now let me piss in peace.”

They have made it to the edge of the clearing. He bats at Draco's hands and uses his left hand to brace against a sturdy birch tree. With his right he fishes blindly under the juggernaut of his belly for his penis, aiming completely by feel. His belly is almost _pointy_. He sighs as he feels his bladder ease, silently apologising to the innocent tree in front of him.

“I didn’t even know it was possible for a pregnant person to _get_ this big.”

“You’re just lucky, I suppose. Always the exception, Harry Potter.” Draco’s grin is almost malicious with glee.

“Shut the fuck _up_, Draco. Fucking twins!”

Draco is beaming.

“I know! It’s fantastic!”

“Huh. I’m not so sure about that.”

“Really? Because I can see a definite advantage. We wanted two, and now we’ll _have _two. We’ll only have to go through all this shit once! One birth, one year of no sleep, and we’re done and dusted.”

Harry can’t help but laugh again.

“When did you become the optimist here? Yes, we only have to do it once, but it’ll all be twice as hard!”

“I don’t think so. Surely only one-and-a-half times as hard.”

Harry shakes his head, leaning back against the trunk of another tree to try and take some weight off his feet, which have already begun to ache.

“You’re incorrigible, Draco. Can’t you let me wallow for two minutes?”

Draco smiles, stepping closer so he can take Harry’s hand. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I’m just so - I’m actually _happy_. I haven’t been this excited in forever.”

Harry smiles at the soft look in Draco’s eyes. He could get used to the joy emanating from his husband.

“I know your game, Draco. You’re just happy because you know that _you’ll _never have to bloody do this.”

Draco smirks. “That too.”

Harry’s smile fades as the cramp starts again, inexorable and really quite annoyingly painful.

“Fuck - another one - _ow_.” He plants his feet and pushes against the trunk behind him, grabbing Draco’s other hand so Draco is standing square in front of him. Draco’s grip feels wonderfully firm as Harry holds tight. He pulls his shoulders back against the tree, gritting his teeth and bracing himself as the cramp tightens and lowers, about to start that low, hard clenching…

“Relax your muscles, Harry, remember, your job is to stay loose and calm.”

Harry stares at Draco through the haze of pain.

“_Hurts_, Draco,” he grits out. He can feel the clenching starting and holds his breath as it sharpens, one, two -

“You can at least breathe, Harry.”

Harry draws in a hissing breath and holds it, three, four, five -

“Let it out again, come on, you can do it.”

Harry can only blow out a short, shaky puff - _six_ \- followed by several shallow, stuttery pants - _seven, eight, nine_ \- 

“God! _Ow!_” The pain finally peaks, and Harry sinks back against the tree as it fades.

Draco lets one of Harry’s hands fall to twirl his wand in the direction of the _Tempus_ charms. The timers reset themselves and the quill jumps onto the clipboard to make a note.

“That was just under nine minutes apart, and fifty-five seconds long. I think the walking and standing is helping.”

Harry groans in dismay, feeling slightly petulant. The pain is wearing on his mood. “I really wanted to go back to bed. My feet are killing me.”

Draco bites his lip.

“Three laps of the clearing, and then you can go back to bed and I’ll give you a back massage.”

Harry sighs in mock moodiness, but Draco knows him well; he has already latched on to having a goal. It is better than just waiting around for the next contraction.

“You’ll stay by me in case I fall?”

Draco squeezes the hand he’s still holding.

“Of course, Harry.”

Harry takes a deep breath and eases his weight off the tree behind him. His back and feet and ankles all protest, but the worst thing is the god-awful pressure sitting hefty and intractable on that aching spot inside him.

He squares his shoulders, grips Draco’s hand, and waddles manfully to the next tree along, then has to stop for a rest.

“Merlin, Draco, this is hard work.”

“I know, Harry, but you’re more than up to it.”

Harry lets go of Draco’s hand for a moment to put his hand to his lower back, swaying from side to side in a futile attempt to shift the pressure.

“God. I can’t believe people are pregnant like this for weeks at a time.”

“Harry… could I see? If it’s not too uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, of course.” He smirks. “I want you to know what I’m bloody well going through. This pressure is unbelievable.”

“Okay. You ready?”

Harry leans back on the tree and plants his feet.

“Go for it.”

“_Legilimens._”

Harry grunts as everything becomes two times worse. He uses both hands to lift his belly slightly, which at least takes the weight off his lower back for a moment. Through his double-layered experience he can make out Draco in front of him, who looks like he’s bitten into a lemon.

“Merlin, Harry, this _sucks_.”

An ache is starting down below. Harry’s heart beats faster in apprehension about how badly this will hurt while under Legilimency, but these are still early contractions, and Draco should have to go through at least _one _with him. He reaches out and grabs Draco’s wand-free hand, concentrating on keeping eye-contact.

“Just you - wait,” he gasps, as the cramping spreads up his torso.

Draco gasps, and half-stumbles where he stands. “Harry!”

“Relax, Draco - stay loose - calm - right?”

“You - bastard!” Draco pants.

The squeeze feels like a vice, and Harry’s eyes water as he gasps for breath. His whole belly is being clamped, and the place down deep at his core feels like an actual knife is cutting him. One, two…

“Argh!” Harry’s vision blurs, but he keeps his eyes open. _You better keep fucking looking at me, Draco_.

Four, five, it hurts, it hurts, please let it be over soon, _ow…_

Draco’s whimpers somehow help him - probably pure sadism - and he grips tighter to Draco’s unseen hand. He pulls every muscle taut against the pain.

_Seven, eight, nine, ten, please!_

“Fuck! Fuck!” Draco shouts, and then the pain breaks, and washes away like a wave. Harry moans and lets his head fall back, breaking the spell as he sags onto the tree behind him.

“Bloody fucking hell,” says Draco weakly. Harry can feel himself trembling slightly as he comes down from the adrenaline.

Harry looks up through the branches at the evening sky. “We’re not doing that again. Merlin, that was horrible.”

“I take it back. You tense up as much as you want. That bloody _hurts_.”

Harry wipes a hand across his forehead.

“No, you were right. All the Healers said that tensing up makes it worse. I’m going to have to try and let myself feel it somehow.” He quails slightly at the thought. At least the next one will seem easy without Legilimency.

It doesn’t. After spending several minutes calming down, Harry has just gathered himself enough to walk to the next tree, and the contraction catches him halfway between them. 

“Draco - it’s starting, come here…”

Draco immediately steps in front of him, and Harry rests his arms on Draco’s shoulders, leaning forward over his belly to rest his head in the crook of Draco’s neck. Draco’s hands make smooth strokes down his back, providing a welcome counterpoint to the pain radiating around his front.

“Breathe for me, Harry, deep and slow now, you can do it.” Draco’s murmur is right against his ear and Harry tries to listen, to trust, to relax. He consciously fights to lower his shoulders and keep his breath from speeding or seizing up.

“Count, Draco,” he grinds out against Draco’s lovely neck, and Draco grips Harry’s hips and starts chanting steadily: “One, two, three…”

Harry shifts from foot to foot, grasps his hands together behind Draco’s head, hisses his breaths through his teeth as evenly as he can manage, and listens to the count, as the pain grips him tighter and tighter. Staying relaxed makes the pain seem worse, there are no barriers protecting him from being consumed in it, but at the same time it is somehow easier to bear.

“Ten, eleven, twelve - ”

Harry melts against Draco as the contraction ends and pants gratefully into his neck. He notices idly that tremors are running through his body like aftershocks.

“You did it, Harry! You really did it! How in Merlin’s name did you _do_ that?”

Harry chuckles. 

“It was so worth it to show you how they feel. _Now_ I’m getting the appreciation I deserve.”

He pushes himself up off Draco and waddles onwards, determined to get past more than one tree this time before the next contraction comes.

“The counting helped. And holding my hips, and everything you were doing, really.” He gives Draco’s hand a squeeze. “Basically, you’re a natural at this.”

“Ha! Well, obviously. The best birthing partner you’ll ever have.”

Harry grins.

Harry stops to rest after passing three whole trees (never mind that they are rather close together, it’s a victory). Draco takes the opportunity to summon the water glass, refill it, and thrust it imperiously at Harry. Harry takes it meekly and sips, idly rubbing his belly with the other hand, trying not to anticipate when the next contraction is going to start.

Draco has just summoned and unwrapped a granola bar for him when Harry feels his belly start to seize up again. He hisses and gestures urgently to Draco, who steps up without hesitation and resumes his role as a personal pillar for Harry to drape himself over.

It is nice to lean on Draco while he has to swim in this pain. Draco’s warmth and solidity and firm hands against his back are what Harry tries to think about, although it’s hard when the pain has now engulfed his torso entirely. Harry’s breath catches as the sharp clench intensifies in his lower abdomen. 

“Ow, _ow_…” The words are a whimper and his breaths become quick, shallow gasps.

“Longer out-breaths, Harry, breathe out slowly.”

Draco has him firmly by the hips and they frame the pain between them, containing it and reminding Harry of something beyond it. He tries to do what Draco is telling him.

“Aaaah... aaaah... aaaah...” He manages to lengthen his exhales but only by voicing each one. He can’t relax enough to breathe silently or even hiss between his teeth.

“Seven, eight, nine…”

Harry doesn’t remember Draco starting to count but he latches on to it now, his hands clutching fistfuls of Draco’s t-shirt and pressing into Draco’s back.

“Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen - ”

“It’s over,” Harry gasps, leaning back against the tree behind him and letting go of Draco. He feels shaken by that last one and he isn’t sure why, really. It just felt so _long_.

“They're getting quite… intense,” Harry says, and is surprised to hear a waver in his voice. “Are they supposed to be this bad so early?” _How bad are they going to get?_

Draco leans over his belly to kiss him. His look is kind. “It's not early, love. You've been labouring for nearly seven hours already.”

“I have? But I'm barely halfway round the clearing yet…”

Draco smiles. “Before that. While you were still in the trance, you were having contractions for well over five hours before you woke up.”

“Oh. Okay.” Harry feels a bit better hearing that. “Only another thirty hours to go then…”

Draco doesn’t let him get away with the joke. “You're anticipating, Harry. But also, I don't think it's going to take that long. Your last three contractions have all been nearly a minute long, and the last two were only seven minutes apart.”

Harry breathes for a moment, letting himself hope that Draco is right. Then he feels the press of a tiny fist against his side, and huffs a laugh. “This is quite a lot to adapt to. I'm glad I don't have to be pregnant for nine months, but at least I'd have had time to get used to it.”

“You're doing really well, Harry.”

“It's just so hard to think of the pain as _good_.”

“I know. You don't have to, though. Think of it as necessary. Or rather, don't think at all. You need to do what you were doing in the trance: submit completely, and follow what your body tells you to do.”

“But all my instincts are to tense up. That’s what my body’s telling me.”

“Well, all right, your job is to stay calm and as relaxed as possible and to not resist what your body is doing, then. And to eat this granola bar.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Tough. You've not eaten since breakfast and you've grown two humans since then. You need energy.”

Harry takes the bar and nibbles on it. He has only eaten a quarter, in tiny, reluctant bites, before the next contraction is upon him. 

Wordlessly, they both move back into position. Harry's huge belly hangs down between them as he leans on Draco's shoulders. Harry spends the first few seconds trying to get ahead of the pain, consciously relaxing the muscles in his shoulders, his neck, his bum. He has never thought he could feel determined about breathing before, but he sets his sights on keeping his breaths smooth and controlled.

“Let it happen, Harry, that’s it, this is meant to be happening, just let it be what it is.”

The pain this time makes him feel almost feverish - prickly heat runs up and down his skin as the cramp twists across his belly.

“Aaaah... aaaah...” His exhalations have become words without his permission. 

“That’s it, Harry, submit to the pain, let it through, let it out. Moan, hum, sing, it’s okay.”

“Count, Draco,” gasps Harry, as the cramp begins to concentrate in that poor, abused, pressurised place down within him. Draco immediately holds him firmly by the hips and starts chanting.

“One, two…”

“Aaaah... aaaah... aaa-AH!” His breath catches. It feels like he’s being torn open. _Which is exactly what’s happening._

“Six - Harry, keep breathing, try humming - eight, nine…”

Harry presses his lips together and moves his hands to cling to Draco’s biceps.

“Hmmm… hmmmm… _hmmmmm_…” The pitch of the hum wavers wildly as the pain peaks, becoming more of a keening, close-mouthed scream, but it does the job, and Harry manages not to completely seize up against the pain.

“Seventeen, eighteen - well done, Harry.”

Harry stays with his head buried in Draco’s neck for a few seconds, until his panting loses its sob-like quality.

“I can feel it pulling me apart down there. God, it’s vicious.”

“It is. And you’re amazing.”

“One closer, though.”

“Hm?” Draco is unwrapping more of the granola bar for him.

“One closer to the end. The way I see it, there are a finite number of contractions between me and the end of all this, right? And we don’t know how many there’ll be, but at some point I’ll have done them all, and there’s definitely one fewer now.”

“I like that you’re thinking positive, Harry, but you’re anticipating again. We should do an exercise.”

“Okay, but can we do it while we walk? I have a back-rub to get to that I desperately need.”

“By all means.”

Draco passes him the granola bar and takes his other hand as they amble slowly onwards. Each step sends a tugging through his lower back, throbbing through his ankles and trembling through his thighs.

“Name five things you can see.”

Harry looks around, nibbling half-heartedly on the granola bar.

“That tree. The cloud there. Those roots sticking out above the ground. Er… you. And my belly.”

Draco laughs.

“Good. Now tell me four things you can feel.”

“Your hand in mine. My feet on the grass. The breeze on my skin. And the never-ending pressure in my groin.”

“Okay. Three things you can hear.”

“Those birds. The wind going through the leaves. My voice.”

“Two smells.”

“Um… my own sweat. And the fresh air.”

“And what can you taste?”

“Oats. Raisins. This bloody granola bar, is what I’m trying to say. Oh, crap, contraction alert.”

Draco laughs as he begins rubbing Harry’s back.

“Perfect timing, Potter.”

This time, Harry starts humming by instinct, and swaying from side to side. It does seem to be what his body wants him to do. Doing the exercise means he’s had no time at all to anticipate this one coming, and he’s glad of it. 

_Let it happen. Let it happen._

“Mmmm… mmmm…“

The pain takes him away inside himself, ripping upwards through his stomach, and this time Harry can feel everything more distinctly: the way the muscles across his whole belly cramp, the way the pressure intensifies, how the pull is tearing him apart a little more. He tries to make peace with it, accept it, welcome it, even as the pain claws at him, demanding panic.

His humming turns almost into growling as he fights to stay in his state of awareness. There are so many thoughts offering to help distract him from the pain - Merlin, _anything_ would feel better than fully facing the pain like this. Thoughts like _How much longer? _and _How many centimetres could I have dilated by now? _and _I hope the babies are all right_ tempt him with their promise of an escape, but Harry draws himself back again and again to _this_, only this, this is real and nothing can change that, he can only somehow acknowledge it and refuse to let his brain make it into more than the raw, horrible, overwhelming sensation it really is.

He sighs as the contraction ends and steps back from Draco. Draco takes his hands and squeezes gently.

“What happened there? It seemed a bit different - you stayed more level, even at the end.”

“I’m trying to stay more in the moment. Can we not talk? I want to stay focused.”

Draco nods, serious and proud, and they walk and waddle onwards, side by side. Harry tries to notice every sensation he can - the slight sway of his belly as he takes a step, the grass under his feet, his breath passing his lips. He notices that he feels less frustrated than before about how slowly he’s able to walk. He accepts how truly enormous and heavy he really is, and how much effort and pain each step takes, and somehow gets nearly a full quarter of the way round the clearing before the next contraction comes.

For the next immeasurable amount of time, Harry continues to walk, have contractions, and maintain his focus on nothing but his moment-by-moment experiences. The light soon fades and Draco summons a friendly orb of light to follow them, but most of Harry’s awareness is bent inwards. He lowers his mental barriers again and again until he can let sensations move through him without being filtered through any type of judgement.

Draco stays by his side the whole time, and never says a word or even makes any unnecessary motion to distract him, but holds him through each contraction and summons food and water to give him as necessary.

It is extremely hard work. Harry has been meditating for months in preparation for this, but never before has he tried to maintain his mental discipline for this long and in such a challenging situation. The pain does not get any easier to accept, and it goes against everything in him not to put up some kind of defence or resistance. Harry can feel his sense of self being gradually eroded. He is floating in a bubble of the present, balanced on a knife-edge of sharp, sharp pain, and reduced to a bundle of raw nerves, clenching muscles, and animal instincts about the way he should move and the sounds he should make.

His concentration finally breaks at the end of a particularly vicious contraction. His face is pressed against Draco’s chest, his hands clinging to Draco’s shoulders, all his limbs shuddering while he groans low and deep in one long, long, rumbling sound, when he feels something big _shift_ within him.

“_Uh_,” he grunts, a hand flying to his belly, but then even before the contraction ebbs completely, a wave of nausea hits Harry, and he staggers abruptly to a tree to heave his guts up over its roots.

He spits the last of the vomit onto the ground and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He registers Draco’s warm hand making slow circles against his lower back.

“Mm. Thanks, love,” he mumbles.

“Ssh, now, love, you don’t need to talk.” Draco’s other hand passes him a glass of water and Harry rinses out his mouth, still half-bent and braced against the tree.

The glass of water is followed by a cool, damp cloth, carefully drawn over Harry’s forehead, then across his neck and back. Harry sighs in pleasure.

He straightens up to move away from the splatter of his vomit, but as soon as he is upright he staggers again, managing a few steps before sinking to his knees. The pressure inside him is still untenable so he falls forward onto his hands, too. His belly is so big that it presses into the ground underneath him.

“Ah,” he breathes. “Fuck.”

“Harry, what’s happening?” Draco’s voice is calm, but with an obvious undercurrent of concern.

“The baby’s dropped. I can feel them, something shifted and now they’re sitting way lower, right on the sore spot… ughhh. There’s just_ so much_ pressure, Draco. I don’t think I can walk any more.”

“That’s okay, love. You’ve done over four laps, I think you’ve more than earned that back-rub.”

Harry blinks. He didn’t think he’d walked that far, but he’s impressed with himself. “Not bad.”

“Extremely good. You’ve been walking for over three hours, Harry.”

Harry nods. Then pain sweeps up his belly and squeezes like a vice and his fingers scrabble uselessly against the grass.

“Nngh - Draco - aah - ”

“I’m here, love.”

Draco sits down right in front of him and shuffles forwards, so that Harry can rest his forehead against Draco’s shoulder.

Harry rocks back and forth, side to side, trying to release the pressure as the pain mounts. He searches desperately for his previous calm focus but it has shattered as if it had never been.

“Owww - owwww - Draco, argh! _Hurts so bad!_”

“I know, I know, love, I know…” Draco reaches round to clamp Harry’s hips and it is something, even though the angle means Draco can’t squeeze together as hard as usual. It isn’t much to counteract the feeling of being torn in half, though.

“Hnarrrgh! No, ow, _please_…”

“I’ve got you, Harry. Listen to me. One, two, three…”

Harry sobs against Draco’s shoulder as the pain gets impossibly worse, listening to the numbers as if they can somehow divide the pain into manageable parts.

The contraction finally releases him and he sags, his arms shaking. They feel far too weak to hold his weight.

“I'm sorry Draco. I'm sorry. I've lost it, I can't stay focused any more.” His voice is distorted by sobs and he’s sure he’s making Draco's shoulder wet.

“Harry, you've done absolutely nothing wrong,” says Draco firmly, shifting even closer to wrap his arms around Harry and pull him into a kneeling hug. “You're doing magnificently. Let's get you to the bed. You need to rest.”

Harry sobs harder, slipping fully into self-pity. There will be no rest for him, not for hours yet, and he’s so tired and it’s only going to get so much worse before then…

Draco holds him and lets him sob for a minute, but then he gently disentangles himself and stands up, tugging on Harry's hands.

“Come on, Harry. You'll feel better for a back-rub, I know you will.”

That sounds true. Draco wouldn't lie to him. Harry holds Draco's wrists and heaves himself to his feet, groaning as the baby presses down within him.

“It's not far, just a few steps.”

Harry follows Draco slowly, grunting as each step jars the pressure inside him, and just as they reach the bed another contraction surges through him.

“Oh, no - oh, God!”

Harry can’t be upright for this, but the pain pins him to the spot and he can’t even step round the corner of the bed and fall onto the mattress. He flails and Draco steps forward to offer himself as his pillar, as usual, but that won’t be enough either, he'd still be too upright. He pivots and folds over at the hips, resting his arms on the footboard and his head on his arms.

The pain is now squeezing in earnest and Harry gasps. The sobs that he has only just controlled break free again and tears wet the skin of his arms.

“F-fuck… aaaah… _aargh_… _nnnng_…”

Draco steps up behind him and grabs his hips, which makes Harry aware that he is shifting from foot to foot, easing his pelvis in minute circles.

“One, two, three…”

Harry’s breathing hitches and sobs catch in his throat. He is gasping now - wild, shallow, messy panting that is edging towards hyperventilation. The pain is blinding, so intense it’s almost funny, like a Fiendfyre creature in his belly raking its claws across his groin, pulling him apart…

“Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two - ”

“That was not a long gap,” says Harry weakly, staring down between his arms.

“No, they've been getting closer. Come on, into bed.”

Draco steers him by the hips, and with only the minimum of gasping and groaning and swearing, Harry settles onto the bed on his side. His whole body aches and getting off his feet feels glorious. He relaxes and draws in deep breaths, eyes drifting closed as Draco comes into the bed behind him.

He melts further as Draco’s fingers begin to work against his back. Draco focuses on Harry’s lower back, and he arches into it as much as he can, a moan of pleasure surprising them both.

Draco chuckles.

“That’s a better sound.” Draco skilfully grinds his knuckles against Harry’s sore lumbar muscles. “You’re a stubborn bastard, Harry Potter. I never would have thought you could meditate for that long at a stretch.”

“Desperate times, Draco. Never been quite as motivated before.”

“Well, I think you must be past the tipping point. No way you’re slowing down now. Your contractions are only - ”

“Ow, ow, _ow_ \- ”

“ - four minutes apart. Right on time. There we go, I’ve got you, breathe Harry…”

Harry can feel his whole belly becoming tight, clenched solid like a boulder. He curls around it, turning his head to gasp into the pillow. He can’t move this time, he’s too heavy, and he hasn’t realised how much being able to shift his hips helped until he can’t do it anymore.

The sensation of being clawed apart starts and the babies must be lying slightly differently now, because one of them is pressing directly against his spine, and the pain there feels like a _bite_, to match the clawing -

“AH!” He shouts and kicks out, but the movement of his leg jars his groin, and he whimpers in agony as the pain lances all the way up his back.

“Heee… heee…” His breaths have become keening, desperate moans, and he clutches the pillow closer, his other hand creeping aimlessly down his side. He wants to touch his belly but he is scared it will hurt too much. Draco’s fingers close over his hand and Harry immediately latches on, squeezing Draco’s hand as if he can pass on the pain of the squeezing inside him.

“Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…”

Harry has gone rigid, he can’t help it, but he is still breathing, even if it is more like crying. As the contraction ends he dissolves into weak tears.

Draco resumes his back-rub, kissing the back of Harry’s neck gently, and lets Harry cry. It is a very effective way of comforting him, but every time Harry feels himself getting calmer, he remembers that another contraction could hit him at any time.

It actually takes longer than Harry expects for the four minutes to pass, but he has not been able to relax properly for the whole time. He hisses, draws his legs up closer under his belly, hugs the pillow to him, and flails behind him until Draco takes his free hand.

“Ah - aaah… _aargh…_ Draco, ow - Draco…”

“I’m here, love, I’m here…”

“A-a-aaah, _heee_, I c-can’t… _aargh_, no, D-Draco -!”

“Ssh, ssh, breathe, love…”

Harry doesn’t know what he wants Draco to do. He can’t do anything more than what he is doing, which is let Harry crush his hand and use his other hand to rub small circles into Harry’s lower back, just where it helps ease the burning of the baby pressing on his spine. All Harry knows is that he’s drowning in the pain, it really feels bad enough that he might die, and he wants Draco to make it stop somehow.

He starts sobbing louder, shedding another layer of control. “N-no-oo, no, no, _no, owwww, ARGH!_”

He isn’t trying to keep his voice down any more. He’s shouting, yelling with every ragged breath, and still nothing makes the pain show pity.

The contraction ends with him silently screaming, breath stopped in his lungs, head raised up off the pillow, teeth bared, arm muscles braced taut against Draco’s hold. If he could have, he knows he would have arched his torso clear off the bed. The tension leaves him in a rush, and he collapses back, panting.

“Harry…” Draco’s voice wavers. Harry curls closer around himself - he can’t deal with Draco’s worry right now. 

But Harry hears Draco stop himself, and take a deep breath. “Harry, it seems as though the contractions are feeling worse since you got into bed?”

“I’m sorry, Draco - I - I - it’s because I can’t move, I think. It’s - the pain - it’s so bad.”

“Okay. Harry… is it - too bad? Because we can get the portkey…”

Harry sobs. He feels so weak. He hadn’t known the pain would wear him down this much, until he barely feels like himself any more. He hates himself for even considering it, but the idea of a hospital - a way to stop the _pain… _He can barely comprehend not taking that way out any more.

“Draco - the babies…”

“The clearing’s magic has already guaranteed that they’re healthy, and not premature. It’s only the birth itself that is still on the line.”

“But they’re twins… it’s more dangerous…”

“The birth would in all likelihood still be completely fine, Harry. If anything went wrong then we’d have medical attention available immediately.”

This is the price of the clearing’s magic: a guaranteed safe birth for all involved, but only if done naturally.

Harry breathes. He feels shattered, dazed. He can’t think. He doesn’t want to make this decision, he doesn’t feel capable of making important decisions in this state, but he knows Draco won’t make it for him.

He has nothing else to give. He doesn’t have any bravado or optimism left. He really, _really_ doesn’t want any more of this pain. But even more than that, he doesn’t want to fail his children before they are even born.

Draco is right. He has always been a stubborn bastard with a hopeless hero complex.

“No. Draco.” Another contraction starts burning in the base of his belly. He whimpers. “Mm-mm - ah - ow - find - another way.”

He hears Draco sigh behind him, but Harry is already losing himself in the pain. This time it is like burning - very _clenchy _burning. The hottest part of the fire sears that tortured, torn place deep in his abdomen, while flames lick up the insides of his belly, right up into his chest. He twists, writhes, and gives up his last vestige of control as he throws his head back and screams.

His throat feels raw by the time the contraction is over. He slumps on the bed. Draco will find a way. He has to have a way.

Draco squeezes Harry’s hand and then lets go. Harry feels him leave the bed. Harry collapses even further into himself - Draco has gone to fetch the portkey anyway.

“_Wingardium leviosa._”

Harry is lifted gently up into the air. The air almost feels as solid as comfortable as the mattress. He opens his eyes and looks down at Draco, whose jaw is set with concentration as he takes slow steps sideways, keeping his wand pointed steadily at Harry.

It is too dark to see much and Harry is too exhausted to guess where Draco is taking him. He focuses sleepily on Draco’s tense, beloved face, made pointier than usual by the shadows from the bobbing _lumos_ orb.

He is lowered slowly towards the ground. Harry gasps when, instead of grass, he feels himself dip into warm water.

Harry splashes as Draco lets his wand drop. Draco has lowered him so gently that he doesn’t fall fully under the surface. The water naturally pushes him upright, and he finds that his feet can reach the smooth, stone bottom, with the water coming all the way up to his chest.

He steps slowly towards the edge of the pool. The warmth feels soothing, and the water holds him easily - it lifts the weight of his belly and all at once he can _move _again. Even the pressure pushing downwards deep inside him seems to have lightened a notch.

He pulls an arm above the surface and points at Draco.

“You. Genius.”

Draco gives him a small, relieved smile.

“Is it helping?”

Harry reaches the edge of the pool, where a smooth lip of stone practically invites him to fold his arms and lie his head down on them. He does just that.

“It’s perfect. It feels so much better.”

Draco kneels down in front of him and strokes a hand through Harry’s matted hair.

“I’d forgotten all about the birthing pool. I’m sorry, Harry, I should have thought of it earlier…”

“None of that. So had I. How is it so warm?”

“Some kind of magical spring, I think.”

“Mmm. S’nice.”

Harry drifts for a few moments, before coming back to himself as a familiar pain starts creeping up his belly. He sucks in a breath and lifts his head, moving his hands to hold on to the lip of stone. It is the perfect size to wrap his fingers around and he braces his arms and shoulders, sucking in more shaky breaths, shifting instinctively from foot to foot.

It still feels awful. He has to work hard to stay somewhat relaxed, and to control his breathing. It _hurts_. But the panic has left him, and he can move into it as the pain builds and builds.

Draco has covered Harry’s white knuckles with his own hands, and is counting once again. Harry listens to the numbers as he gasps and moans and manages not to hyperventilate.

“Aaaah… a-haah… ow, _aaaaaaah_, hmm, mm, mm, mm-aaaah - ”

“Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, _yes_, Harry, well done! You’re fucking incredible, love.”

Harry just lies his head back down on his arms. He manages to give Draco a drowsy smile, but speaking seems altogether too much effort.

Draco doesn’t seem to mind. He goes back to stroking Harry’s hair, and Harry sighs in contentment. He closes his eyes and lets his feet leave the floor so he bobs gently under the water, pushed slightly by the gentle current of the spring bubbling up somewhere in the centre of the pool.

He may even have slept for a minute before the next contraction comes. He moans and moves into position without conscious thought, without even bothering to open his eyes. He knows Draco is with him, and he knows the pain will not kill him.

He tips his head back and lets his groans get louder. It feels right; he is still in control. “Aaaah - AAAAAH - come on, then, _uuuhhh_, fuck, _ngnggg_, ah, ah, ow, mmm, _hnnng_, is that the - ow, ow - best - AH - you got?”

Draco’s laugh breaks over him, soothing like the water.

“You show ‘em, Harry.”

“ARGH! Fuck! AH-_arrgh_, _ohhhhh, owwwww_, this - can - _aaaah _\- fuck off!”

Luckily, in the next few moments, the contraction _does _fuck off, and Harry sags against the side of the pool again. It is now deep night. He has no idea how late it is, but he likes the darkness and his body seems to be firmly of the opinion that it is time to go to sleep.

So he does, for as long as he is able. The new pattern is set: doze, burn, and try and make Draco laugh with some inventive swearing. The more he rails verbally at the agony the easier it is to accept physically, and as long as Draco is smiling and counting and playing with his hair he can cope with existing in this ocean of pain. 

An unknown time later - the moon has set a long time ago and the sky is now a deep, deep blue rather than black - he is labouring through an intense contraction, head bowed and shoulders up, rocking his torso slightly back and forth with his groans, when he feels a distinct _pop_ deep inside himself, followed by a kind of rushing sensation.

“Uh!” He looks down, but of course he can see nothing past his enormous belly and the dark water. The pressure, which has come to seem like a constant fixture of life as Harry now knows it to be, is leaving him.

“Oh, thank God,” Harry breathes, but the next moment his contraction seizes him round the middle like an enormous animal worrying its prey, and Harry doubles over with a cry, wishing for the first time that there was more here in the water to brace against.

“Twenty-four, twenty-five… is it over, Harry?”

Harry nods. He has gone limp, letting himself float to the water’s surface.

“What happened?”

“My thingy. Water. My water broke, I think.”

“Oh - that’s - wow, Harry.”

Draco’s voice is wavering again, but not with despair. Harry stands up and walks wearily to the side of the pool to look into Draco’s face. As expected, that rare, glowing pride is back, Draco’s teary expression shining and open and vulnerable.

Harry smiles. “About fucking time, right?”

Draco gives him a watery grin and kisses Harry’s hand.

“Right.”

Harry begins exploring along the side of the pool. He doesn’t want to spend the next contraction floating or even standing - he wants to be more grounded than that. The clearing once again seems to be designed around the needs of birthing, and he almost immediately finds that the ground at the edge of the pool rises up into a ledge that is just the right height for kneeling on, while still keeping his upper chest out of the water.

No sooner has he slotted his knees into the dips in the stone that were clearly meant for just this, when the next contraction is upon him. He immediately notices that the pain seems harsher now, and he supposes that makes sense in a way, because there is less fluid inside to pad him against the squeeze of the walls of his belly. But he can’t help a flash of resentment at the unfairness - he is finally rid of that godawful pressure, and yet it’s still just going to get worse?

He clings to the lip as normal, but no matter how hard he squeezes the stone, it isn’t enough. He can feel his mental state beginning to wobble. Every muscle locks tight and his breath stutters and stops. The contraction has him utterly at its mercy, his insides feel like they are grinding against each other, and he can barely see for the pain.

Draco’s hands suddenly move from resting on top of his own. They work themselves under Harry’s clenched fingers, and as soon as Harry understands he lets go of the side and clings to Draco’s hands instead. Harry tugs instinctively, needing to brace, and Draco tugs back - tugs _up _\- until Harry’s arms are stretched above his head. Harry gasps and let his head hang back, lets his whole body hang down from Draco’s hands, and the way Harry’s thighs and arms are trembling with tension to stay in this position somehow helps him to relax his neck and body. A low, unbroken moan comes rolling out of him as his belly crushes further into itself.

Draco lowers him gently when he feels Harry’s arms go slack, and Harry drapes himself over the side, sitting back onto his heels and relaxing completely.

“Hurts more, Draco,” he mumbles.

“I gathered. Did the hanging help?”

“’S,” Harry says, and closes his eyes to go back to sleep.

But in the next second he gasps, his eyes flying open. He scrabbles to find Draco’s wrists.

“Another one? Already?”

“_Ah _\- yeah - Draco, ohhh, _hooo_, there was no gap! This - _aaaah _\- it’s not right!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, love.”

It doesn’t feel okay. But Draco wouldn’t lie to him, not when Harry is hurting so much. Harry lets his weight be held up by Draco above him and the water around him and bucks and writhes as the contraction works its slow, agonising way through him. His breathing sounds as harsh as the contraction, dry and desperate.

As soon as it is over Harry sags, and presses the heels of his shaking hands to his eyes. “Draco - why was that so quick?”

“I think you’ve reached the transition stage, Harry.”

“Oh, God.” Fragments of what the healers told him come back - that this is the last stage of labour, the hardest, because the contractions come with barely a pause, at most a minute of respite, and can sometimes even _overlap_…

“I know, but Harry! You’ve already done most of the work - you’ve come so far - this is a good thing!”

Harry doesn’t bother replying, because the next contraction is already happening. His moan is more of a roar of despair as he lets himself hang from Draco’s hands, turning his face to press it against his arm, gasping and sobbing and moaning.

There is barely a chance to breathe after that. Each contraction all but merges into the next, with a few seconds to gasp and sip at a glass of water before starting again. Harry can only twist and jerk weakly against Draco’s firm hold, not even able to muster the energy to tense up any more. His sobs and screams all peter out after a few seconds as he runs out of the will to sustain them. He is still fighting the pain, because letting this pain just _happen_ is inconceivable, but he feels as weak as a kitten against the savagery of each contraction.

Time is meaningless, Harry is meaningless, only the pain has meaning any more.

“Draco - help me,” Harry croaks.

Draco’s grip never falters, but his voice does. “Oh, Harry… you don’t need help - you’re doing so well…”

Harry gasps, twisting against the pain inside him. “Please! Draco, _please_, _arrrgh!_”

Draco’s breathing goes shaky. “No, Harry. I can’t help you. This is what needs to happen.”

“Aaargh! NO! No, you said - the portkey…”

Harry hears Draco sniff. He’s crying. _Good, he should feel bad_.

“I won’t g-give you the portkey, Harry. It’s too late for pain potions anyway. You can do this. You’re closer than you think.”

“Argh - no - _fuck you, Draco! _FUCK you, argh, you can’t just leave me like this - this is your fault… _noooo_…”

“I won’t leave you, Harry. I’m right here. We’re going to be alright, you’ll see. You and me and our children, Harry…”

The words barely register. Anger surges through Harry, and it feels so much better than despair that he welcomes it gleefully.

“I hate you, Malfoy. I _hate _you.”

Another quiet sob from Draco, and Harry takes vicious satisfaction in hitting away the hesitant hand that reaches for his hair.

“Don’t _touch_ me. I’ve always hated you - always knew - always knew you were _pathetic_ \- ”

Harry gasps and buckles as another contraction crashes into him. Draco’s hands find his without hesitation, holding him steady as he pulls and yanks and sobs.

“I’ve got you, Harry. I love you. I won’t let you go.”

Harry moans, and the anger drains away as the pain gets worse and worse and _worse_. When he is finally granted a half-minute free from the agony, he collapses against the side of the pool, sobbing as hard as his exhaustion allows.

“I’m s-sorry, Draco - I didn’t mean it…”

“Oh, love, I know, it’s okay…”

“It’s not okay. It’s not. I can’t do it, Draco, I c-can’t, I’ll die, please let it stop, let me die…”

“Ssh, Harry. Ssh. Hush. I’ve got you.”

Draco’s hands are back in Harry’s hair, petting and stroking gently. It is more than Harry deserves. He cries harder even as Draco’s loving encouragement makes him feel better.

Harry doesn’t even move when the next contraction comes. It is all so incredibly pointless. He idly wonders how many minutes of the _Cruciatus _curse he would willingly exchange instead of going through this. Probably ten, no, fifteen solid minutes -

His muscles lock and he grips the edge of the pool. 

He has to _push_. 

He grunts, shifts, tenses, and bears down. It hurts, but he can’t focus on that. It is like the trance while he was growing the babies, he finally has a clear urge from his body and there is no question but to obey it.

“Uh - ughhh - _hrngngnghhh_…” His grunt-growl reverberates around the clearing. Within him, he can feel the baby beginning to descend, and when the contraction ends, the pressure is back ten-fold, solid and unyielding and lodged at the top of his pelvis.

“Oh - God - Draco, ow, Draco, it’s happening!”

There is a splash as Draco jumps in the pool beside him, still wearing the t-shirt and sweatpants, and Harry feels himself gathered up from behind into a wonderful hug.

“You were pushing, Harry! Oh my God!”

“I just had to, it was like they said, I couldn’t _not…_”

“I can’t believe it! It won’t be long now, Harry! You’re doing it!”

“Ah, the pressure, though, _ow_, I want them _out!_”

“They will be. Soon, Harry, soon.”

Draco steps back as Harry tenses under his arms. The urge to push builds faster than the pain and Harry gulps in a huge breath, holds it, and strains downwards with everything he has. For several long moments there is no sound but the lapping of water against the side of the pool, but all Harry is aware of is the slow, slow shifting of that pressure within him…

He lets out his breath in an explosion of air, gasping and feeling dizzy with the effort.

“Ah! Uh, Draco, they barely _budged_!” Harry wails.

“They did budge though, didn’t they? Here…”

Draco passes him a glass of water, and Harry sips it and lets Draco rub his back underwater. Harry wants to spread his knees wider, but the dips in the stone don’t let him.

“Need to find some other position - wanna spread my legs.”

“Okay.” Draco moves through the water beside him, feeling along the edge. There is now enough pre-dawn light for Harry to see him clearly, but the water still looks inky-black.

“Here!” Draco surges back to him. “Can you turn around, Harry?”

Moving doesn’t feel good with the baby wedged deep inside him, but the water makes it possible. Draco gently takes him into his arms, one under his shoulders and one under his knees, and Harry wraps his arms around Draco’s neck.

“Now _I _feel like a baby…”

Draco smiles and bends his head, giving Harry a light kiss. Harry melts against him, but in the next second stiffens.

“Ah - Draco - need to push - _nngng_!”

Draco hurries forwards, feeling with one hand for the spot he has found, while Harry grunts and gasps into his chest.

Harry finds himself placed with his back to the stone surface of the edge of the pool, sitting as if in a chair, with the water coming nearly to the top of his belly and the nape of his neck leaning against the lip of the pool. But this chair doesn’t really have a seat. The back of his bum is supported, and his thighs are nestled in stone grooves, splayed wide, but there is nothing but water around his groin.

Harry plants his feet on the ledge, bends his chin to his chest, and gives himself over to the last of the contraction. It’s no use - it’s too late to move the baby. He surfaces from the contraction frustrated and gasping.

“Need it to - need them _out_, God damn it - ”

“I know, Harry, I know. You’re doing so well. Rest now.”

Harry lets his head fall back over the edge of the stone lip. Draco is there in a second, casting a cushioning charm as a pillow for him. Harry sighs and relaxes, looking up at the lightening blue sky.

The gap between contractions seems to be longer now that he has started pushing. He is absurdly grateful. He has now been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, and his body has been through a huge amount. Fatigue makes every part of him feel heavy, even under the water.

The next contraction gathers, and Harry lifts his head, tucks his chin, and wraps his hands under the crook of his knees. He takes a deep breath, curls into himself and _pushes_.

With glacial slowness, Harry feels the baby move down further into his pelvis. His held breath escapes him in a long, high whine as he keeps pushing, spluttering out into pained gasping as he runs out of air and becomes aware of the clench of the contraction still squeezing him.

“Deep breath and go again, Harry!”

Harry gulps a mouthful of air and does as he’s told, chasing the last of his contraction as he feels the slow progress come to a full halt.

“Agh - no - come on!”

But he is shaking with exertion, and probably couldn’t have pushed again anyway. He collapses boneless against the cushioning charm, eyes closed and hands resting on his belly. 

The baby is now firmly lodged between his hips, and it hurts. He can feel the pressure pushing outwards on his bones.

“Oh God… this is not going to be fun… there’s no space down there - Draco, bones don’t stretch, do they?”

“No, love. But it’s all right. The potion gave you wider hips when it gave you your cunt, Harry.”

“Doesn’t feel very wide - ”

“I know. But your body can do this, Harry.”

Harry just breathes for a minute, trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling.

“Oh, here we go…”

Draco helps him raise his head, and Harry resumes the tight curl over his belly. He is here until the end, now, he knows - he is having these babies right here. 

He strains hard enough to see stars, and this time the baby seems to move a tiny bit more easily, sliding perhaps another inch downwards. Harry seizes another breath and goes again, trying to spread his legs even wider apart as the baby seems to hit an obstacle. He strongly suspects it is a part of his pelvis. He tries to push harder but the contraction is running out, and the baby isn’t moving anywhere.

He flops back, panting, waving away Draco’s attempt to pass him some water.

“Baby’s stuck - can’t - get them past…”

Draco is standing between his legs, trying to peer through the water, but it is still too dark to see anything below the surface. He reaches out and holds Harry’s knees.

“You will, my love. The clearing’s magic is keeping you safe. It’ll be easier after you’ve rested.”

Harry takes the hint and closes his eyes.

The next contraction is a strong one, and Harry pushes with a will. Previously, he felt as if his cervix had been tearing apart; now, he knows with a growing sense of certainty that his pelvis is going to crack down the middle. It doesn’t feel as though the baby moves anywhere despite his best efforts - he doesn’t think he can push any harder - he is already feeling drained from just the few pushes he’s done so far.

Harry collapses again, his upper body above the water slick with sweat.

“Can’t - can’t - aaaah, hurts, oh, oh…”

Draco steps between Harry’s legs, smoothing a cloth over Harry’s forehead.

“Just do your best, Harry. It will be enough.”

Harry gulps air and accepts some water. Draco goes back to stroking his knees, leaning forward to kiss Harry on the forehead.

“I’ll try, Draco. For you.”

“I know you’ll do it, Harry. For our family.”

Harry feels a little bolstered as he jams his chin to his chest and answers the irresistible urge to push. He is still determined but he can’t manage to muster as much energy as before, so he is surprised when something seems to click, and the baby is once again moving downwards. Harry gasps in relief but gathers himself as quickly as he can to push again, gaining perhaps another inch.

“Gah! Aah, aah, _aaah_, Draco, ow, gonna split in half, ah!”

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, relax if you can Harry.” Draco moves round to his side, putting his arm behind Harry’s back and Harry slumps sideways into Draco’s chest, panting in pain.

“Need them out,” Harry whimpers.

“I know, I know, they’re coming as fast as they can.”

Harry shakes and cries a little in Draco’s arms, but he is ready when the next contraction comes.

“_Nnnghghghhghhhhgrrr…_” It is a primeval sound, a growl of pure effort. Harry feels the baby descend another good inch with satisfaction, which turns to instant panic as - “They’re going back up! Argh, help - ”

“Push again, Harry!“

Harry tries, but as soon as he stops at the end of the contraction he feels the baby moving up again.

“No! Ow! They’re going upwards!”

“Not as far as they came down. It can happen, remember? Two steps forward and one back, that’s all.”

Harry does remember something like that from their healer briefings, but the pressure in his pelvis is beginning to block out his ability to think. He leans into Draco’s arms, gasping.

“They can’t go - back up - want them _out_. They should - bloody well - cooperate.”

Draco chuckles, pressing a kiss against Harry’s temple.

“We’ll just have to give them a telling-off then, as soon as we meet them.”

“No - want them to - like it here. No telling-off - Draco.”

“All right. I’ll wait until they’re a bit older then.”

“… Good. Ohhh, it’s coming again - ugh - _urghhnghgnhggghhcomeoncomeoncomeonnnnn…_”

“That’s it, Harry, another just like that, you can do it - ”

“Ah-ah-ah… _arrrghghghgghhcommmeonnnnnnnrhghhh…_”

The baby is getting lower, and Harry’s whole pelvis is jammed tight and spread to its hard limits. As the contraction ebbs he is surprised by a new, stinging pain in his groin. Tentatively he feels around and below his belly, and finds a small round bulge distorting and stretching the skin at the base of his penis and pushing against his cunt.

For the first time in hours, Harry feels a flare of excitement.

“Draco - the head, feel it, here - ”

Draco feels the firm roundness and gasps. “Harry, they’re right _there!_ You’re so close, love!”

“Oh God - Draco - it hurts, though…”

“Oh, love, I know, but I love you, and we’ll meet them soon, so soon, love…”

Harry leans his head against Draco’s shoulder and huffs little breaths through his nose, trying to be patient, and trying not to dread what has to happen next.

As the next contraction starts he lifts his head wearily from Draco’s shoulder, gets his hands wrapped around his legs, and bears down. The baby shifts immediately and -

“Ah! Oh, no, no, no, _nonono_, ARGH! ARRRGH!”

The stinging of the skin down in his groin has ignited. It feels like someone is holding a lit match to the place between his legs. He needs to push but his panic is stronger, but even without pushing the contraction is sending the baby further downwards and the baby’s _head_ is beginning to stretch those exquisitely-sensitive layers of labia apart…

Harry arches fully off the stone behind his back, arms flailing and sending up gouts of water. “Gah! No, baby, please, ow, _owowow_ \- ”

“Harry, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I love you…”

Draco’s arm is wrapped around Harry’s chest and Harry clings to Draco’s strong forearm with both hands, his breath hissing between clenched teeth even after the contraction ends.

“Gonna tear - ow - Draco - ow, ow - I’m stretching, I’m going to rip…”

“You won’t tear, love, the clearing’s magic won’t let you. Can you feel if our baby has any hair, Harry?”

Harry reluctantly lets go of Draco's arm with one hand and feels down to where the tortured skin is pulsing between his legs. Touching the stretched labia is enough to make him whimper and bury his head in the crook of Draco's neck, but his fingers find something else too - a firm, soft, and, yes, hairy skull, so unbelievably solid and real.

“Oh my God, Draco - they're there, they're right there!” Harry doesn't recall starting to cry but now he's sobbing.

Draco holds him closer and kisses the top of his head. “Yes. They are.” Harry is dimly surprised by the unconcealed crack in Draco's voice. Even when Draco gets emotional he always tries to control his voice, but now he doesn't seem to mind at all as his voice starts to waver wildly and quite comically across octaves. “They're coming to us, sweetheart, and they don't mean to hurt you, they're so sorry they're hurting you, but they just want to come see us…”

Even through the agony and his sobs, Harry grins. “I love you, you gorgeous H-Hufflepuff…”

Draco's laugh is shaky but full of delight. “Merlin, Harry, only you could still be making jokes right now, you unbelievable man…”

The next contraction is here. Harry knows he has to do this, to let this happen, but he hesitates. It already hurts so much and it’s going to hurt even more. But his body needs him to push, his baby needs him to push, and he takes a deep breath and clamps his lips together as he braces his shoulders against the stone, and bears down as hard as he can.

His hand is still between his legs, and he feels the baby’s head slowly coming down further into his palm, stretching his labia impossibly outwards, they weren’t kidding about a _ring of fire_, oh, Merlin, and now his clit is stretching too, and the million nerves bundled there burn like lava, like the sun, and he can’t, he can’t -

“ARGH!” The scream is abrupt and short and brutal, and he bucks into Draco’s embrace, but he is still on fire, the baby’s head is almost fully crowned and not going anywhere and he is still contracting and it all hurts _so much_. “Shit, shit,” he gasps, his voice thready, and hyperventilates into Draco’s skin.

“Go again, Harry, push!”

Harry locks his muscles and strains, his vision going red, and he _knows _he must truly be tearing in half this time because it feels like everywhere from his clit to his arsehole is coming apart around the head he can feel emerging into his hand.

For several endless moments Harry keeps pushing, he’ll keep pushing even if the pain kills him, even if he dies like this, and finally, just as the contraction ends, he feels the baby’s head surge forwards and the burning mercifully fades to a manageable level.

He collapses back onto the stone and the cushioning charm, and lets Draco smooth his hair away from his forehead as he heaves grateful lungfuls of air. “Head - head is out.”

“Merlin, Harry.” Draco kisses his temple tenderly.

“I can feel them right _there_ \- God - so weird,” he mumbles. He strokes his hand wonderingly over the head under the water, noticing plenty of hair, and, no way, was that a tiny _nose?_ Then he squirms. “Ow - baby - stop _moving_.”

Draco chuckles. “I think maybe it’s the baby turning, Harry, to get ready for the shoulders.”

“Ah - yeah, think so - stop it, baby, feels so gross!”

Draco smiles against his cheek and kisses his face. “I reckon you just need one more really big push Harry, and you’ll have them in your arms.”

“‘M tired, Draco. It’s so hard.”

“It is bloody hard, Harry, I know. But this is what your mother did for you, and now you’re doing it for our children. You can do it, Harry.”

Harry gulps on grief as he thinks of his mother. That’s something, isn’t it? Now he’ll know what she went through for him. It’s another way to feel closer to her.

“I wish she was here. I wish they both were.”

“I know, love. I know.”

They just lie together for a few minutes, and although it still feels unbearably uncomfortable and strange and Harry just wants the baby _out_, he is more than happy to take any time he can to breathe and rest without burning alive.

The respite seems longer than usual, as if his body is collecting itself, and Harry almost feels ready when the next contraction comes. “Come on… come - _on_ \- _urghhghgnngnnhh_…” He feels his cunt tearing apart again as the baby’s shoulders try to come out, and he’s burning up in the fire of it but he stays focused, desperate to finish this before the contraction ends and he’s stuck stretched out like this.

He gasps one wild breath and returns to pushing, reaching his fingers around to feel if there’s anything he can hold on to - yes, there, a shoulder he thinks, and he tries to pull as well as push without hurting the baby -

And suddenly the baby comes free in one pooling rush, and Harry _feels_ them come out of him, and without thinking he grabs the small body and brings them up out of the water and onto his chest in one smooth movement.

“Oh sweet Circe, Harry, there they are!” Draco is weeping again, and his long, pale hand comes up to cover Harry’s own across the baby’s slimy back.

A huge wave of sheer relief and joy boils through Harry as he looks down at his tiny baby. The dawn light shows him an impossibly wrinkled face, bruised purple from its passage down through Harry, and hair of an indiscernible colour through all the gunk clinging to it.

“Oh my God - oh my God, Draco, I did it! It’s done, I did it, it doesn’t _hurt_ any more, and look, look at them, Draco, aren’t they gorgeous? Oh my God, hello, baby, hello little one!“

Harry hardly knows what he’s saying, but he’s laughing and completely overcome by this surge of love and happiness. This is his baby, _his baby_, and he’s never felt love like it, he feels so light and he would do anything, _anything_ for them.

As he watches, that little wrinkled face wrinkles up even more, a tiny mouth opens, and a hiccuping, wailing cry fills the clearing.

Harry looks up at Draco’s tear-streaked face and they share a shining look of triumph.

“Harry, did you see? They’re a girl.”

Harry hadn’t even thought about it. He looks and, yes, apparently a girl. “At least until further notice.”

Draco beams. “Yes. Until and unless she notifies us otherwise.”

Harry bends down to kiss his bawling daughter on the head. “Urgh, she stinks.” Draco laughs again. “Do you want to hold her, Draco?”

“If the cord is long enough then I’d love to, Harry.”

Draco pulls his sodden T-shirt off his head and throws it over the side of the pool, leaving his pale, scarred chest exposed so that the baby can have skin-to-skin contact. Draco nestles close to Harry’s side and takes their daughter reverently into his arms. The umbilical cord, which, now that Harry thinks about it, he can feel against his sore cunt where it still goes up inside him, is luckily long enough to allow a little slack. Harry looks at his husband’s face, so vulnerable and open as he smiles down at their crying baby, and he knows that he will remember this - the way they look together, with the dawn light bouncing off the water - forever.

He could keep watching for a long time, but in the next moment he is brought rapidly back to earth when he feels a contraction start to roll up his belly - and the distinct urge to push.

“Oh shit! I forgot the other one!”

Draco tips his head back and laughs, which helps to dissipate Harry’s genuine dismay as he realises he has to go through that all over again.

The return of pain is not welcome, but Harry sets to pushing with a will. He wants this _done_, he wants to spend time with his husband and his new daughter and her sibling, and little though he wants to get torn apart, this time, he knows he can do it.

Draco keeps their daughter in the crook of one arm, while running a soothing hand across the back of Harry’s straining shoulders. Harry barely notices anything but the feelings inside him as another baby starts to move downwards, jamming into that tunnel in his pelvis.

“_Urgghhnngg _\- come on, baby, uh, come meet your sis - _urgh _\- your sister, _urrrggrrhhh_, come on, come on then baby, _ohhhh_, please, ow, come on…”

The second baby seems to move along easier than the first, and this contraction is going on and on. He tries to keep bearing down with the same energy and intensity, but he can feel himself starting to tremble with the effort.

By the time the contraction leaves him to collapse backwards and gasp at the pink-streaked sky, he can feel the baby’s head as a curve against his cunt, bulging up behind the sore folds with the looming threat of turning the smarting sting back into that searing burn.

“Oh God - they’re right there already - Draco, oh God, I don’t want to, Draco, it’s going to hurt so much…”

“I know, Harry, but they want to meet us, they want to join their sister. It won’t be for much longer love and then I promise, you’ll never have to do it again.”

“Thank fuck.”

Draco laughs again, and at some point their daughter has stopped crying and is making small snuffling noises instead. Harry rolls his head wearily to the side so he can gaze at her little face. She is mouthing at Draco’s flat chest and Harry smiles.

“You’re not going to have much luck there, little one,” Harry mutters. Draco gives him a grin.

Harry closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, trying not to mind the hip-cracking pressure or the pulsing sting between his legs or the fear of more pain to come. Soon, soon, he can stop. His endurance will not be tested for too much longer. He can do this.

He gathers himself up by rote as the next contraction comes. Chin to chest, hands under knees, curl forwards, _push_ \- and immediately the ring of fire is back as he feels the head slowly emerge, and he wants to scream but he keeps his teeth gritted and his breath stopped up inside him, the better to keep pushing, keep pushing, just - oh, Jesus fuck, that hurts, oh _God_ \- just keep pushing…

He doesn’t even stop when the baby’s head comes clear. He just huffs an exhale, gulps an inhale, and keeps going, and fuck whether the contraction has stopped or not. He gives an almighty internal sustained shove and holds it. He can feel blood vessels in his neck and head close to bursting, and his heartbeat is roaring in his ears as spots appear in front of his eyes. For an endless moment he is giving everything he has while nothing seems to move, and then the baby all but shoots out of him, so suddenly that he doesn’t have time to reach down and catch them. It’s now light enough to see into the water, and through a small cloud of blood, the baby floats serenely to the surface. Harry manages to get his hands under them just as their face breaks the water. The shock of the cool morning air seems to be enough to trigger the baby’s instincts, and Harry clearly sees the moment that their - her - chest rises in her first ever breath and lowers again in a piercing cry.

Harry cuddles her close and sobs. He feels broken; he feels ecstatic.

***

The midday sun is pouring like a blessing into the clearing by the time they are ready to leave.

Harry has left everything to Draco since he got the second baby out of him. His mind seems to be wrapped in a fog of exhausted joy. Not even the lingering contractions to push the placenta out could fully lift him out of this haze. Draco clamped the umbilical cords and then cut them with muggle scissors rather than his wand. They proved surprisingly tough to cut through, made from some kind of bumpy, sinewy muscle. No sooner had Draco levitated Harry and baby two back over to the bed than Harry had felt the twinges of need heralding the loss of his womb and cunt. He had to pass the baby to Draco so he could cling to the headboard, panting and grunting and twitching weakly for half an hour as he tried and failed to find a way to satisfy the unbearable yearning. His body now shows no trace of his previous distended belly, apart from a truly impressive array of tiger-like stretch-marks. Draco leans over to kiss them and Harry knows without discussing it that they will never heal them.

After that, he’s so wrung out that he has to close his eyes and slip off into sleep. By the time Draco is gently stroking his hair to wake him, both babies have been fed from bottles, cleaned, weighed, and dressed in tiny green onesies, with conjured beanie hats with the words ‘One’ and ‘Two’ embroidered nicely at the front, and everything is packed.

“How did you manage all that?” Harry asks sleepily.

Draco laughs. “Magic, Harry. It helps a lot. Also you’ve been sleeping for three hours. But you need a proper meal, and I know there are lots of people who want to help look after you waiting for us back home.”

“Cuddle first?”

Draco’s eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles. “Well… all right then. Our first family cuddle.”

So they spend nearly another hour lying next to each other against the pillows in the bed, swapping babies every so often and both gazing adoringly into the tiny wrinkled faces of their daughters. Now that all the gunk is off them Harry can see that their hair is a very light blond, but with a suspicious thickness and waywardness to it already that hints at his own genes coming through. Their eyes are open, and they’ll have to wait to see what colour they settle, but Harry can’t believe how he can already see a difference in their gazes - the first twin seems content to look around calmly while the second twin seems to be squinting, trying to focus fully on their surroundings. They smell delicious and Harry can’t get enough of breathing them in, of hefting their slight, solid weight, of touching every part of them. He marvels at the strength in their tiny fingers and the delicate curve of their ears, and although they still look a bit like bruised potatoes, they are pinking right up and Harry hasn’t seen beings more perfect anywhere in the world.

“Do you think they’re identical twins, then?” Harry says.

“Must be. There was only one placenta. Fraternal twins always have two.” 

“Huh. You always were better at studying than me. I didn’t think we’d need to know about twins.”

“Well, I like to be prepared. Not that we’ve actually got enough names for them.”

“Ah - yeah…” 

Their name for a girl was going to be ‘Lily Luna’, which was fine - but for which one? And what about a second one?

“Could be a constellation, maybe?” Harry suggested.

“Yeah, maybe. How would you feel about Scorpia?”

“Er… _mayyy_be?”

“You hate it.”

“... Kind of.”

“Hmm. Fine. How about Alya? That’s one half of a binary star, and the overall star system is Theta Serpentis.”

“Oh, I see. Getting the Slytherin influence in there early.”

“_You’re _the Parselmouth, Harry.”

“Hmm. Well, Alya is a nice name. Lily and Alya… no, wait, it’s hard to say together.”

“I suppose so. Well, there’s always Lyra. That constellation is meant to be a harp, or an eagle carrying a harp, and it borders with Draco, as well.”

“Oh yeah? I like that. Lily and Lyra - Lyra and Lily… that has a ring to it, don’t you think? Or is it too much alliteration?”

“I think it’s alright. Screw what anyone else thinks. _We’re _their parents, Harry, we get to decide.”

“Right. Their parents.” Harry looks down at the two tiny babies, bewildered. He’s a _parent. _Fuck. He doesn’t feel ready for this.

“Would you consider Narcissa as a middle name?” Draco’s voice is hesitant, and he looks over at Harry almost nervously.

“Lyra Narcissa… yeah, okay, Draco.” He squeezes his husband’s hand, and Draco lets out a breath.

“Thank you, Harry. It’ll mean the world to her, you know.”

***

They take the portkey to St. Mungo’s, where a mid-witch gives the babies their first medical check-up and pronounces them both completely healthy, and above-average weight for twins. Draco insists on Harry having a check-up as well, but apart from exhaustion, dehydration, and low blood sugar, he is physically in perfect health. Draco keeps expecting Harry to wince and shuffle, but that’s one advantage of the womb and vagina only being temporary, he supposes.

Draco holds Lyra (baby two) and Harry holds Lily as they apparate together to the bottom of the garden of the Burrow. The unfamiliar sensation sets both babies to crying, but they are far enough away from the house that no-one within can hear them. It only takes a few minutes in the haze of the afternoon sunshine for the babies to settle again - all they wanted was a cuddle. Draco’s chest feels too large, like it’s been pumped full of air, and he realises the unfamiliar sensation is humility - he is humbled to think that this tiny human trusts him enough to find comfort and safety in his arms.

Draco looks up to see Harry smiling softly at him. There are deep bags under Harry’s eyes and his hair is a fright, but Draco is relieved to see no trace of the anguish that has ravaged his poor husband’s face for most of the last day. Seeing Harry in so much pain was harder than Draco could have ever anticipated. He leans over both babies to kiss Harry gently on the lips.

“Shall we go and greet the hordes, then, my love?”

Harry grins. “Let’s. This is going to be hilarious.”


End file.
